Encomium Ombre
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: "A sacrifice must be made." Dumbledore's voice came out softly, singed with impenetrable night of concern. "The Demon has set claim to her. What other choice do we have to let him have her?" Shattered heart Two bonded souls Torn between time. Encomium Ombre
1. Prologue

**Title:** Encomium Ombre

 **Author:** Carolare Scarletus

 **Dedicated to:** ArielKidd

 **Universe:** Very AU; Cult; Soulmate

 **Genre:** Angst; Romance; Dark; Supernatural

 **Pairing(s):** Draco x Hermione; Multiple pairings

 **Timeline: 1994; 1995-**

 **Characters:** Draco Malfoy; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter; Albus Dumbledore; Ron Weasley; (More will be added with each published chapter)

Summary:

An infant unborn, Hermione Granger has been his. Through the decades, he has searched until he finally found her. He watched, waited patiently for her to grow, to flourish, until one day he would be able to pluck her from the world and claim her as his own.

On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she is awakened brought to the dungeon's of the most influential Pureblood ever to roam the earth- Draco Malfoy. Upon arrival, secrets of their connection open to her and she learns of his true identity and the connection that she has shared with him since the dawn of creation.

Will the Muggleborn be able to save herself from the darkness, or will she fall victim to its charm as she has done so all these centuries?

"A sacrifice must be made." Dumbledore's voice came out softly, singed with impenetrable night of concern. "The Demon has set claim to her. What other choice do we have to let him have her?"

Shattered heart

Two bonded souls

Torn between time.

 _Encomium Ombre_

 **Requirements ordained by the Author** :

-Draco will be two years older.

-Second Chance Awakening (Will explain further later on).

-Voldemort will introduced, but not in the traditional way. (Semi-traditional).

-Shared heart and weakened state. (Hermione diagnosed with something incurable).

-Dumbledore is aware of her condition/ connection, as he always is. (Some inkling as to what it is, who it is with). So is Draco, of course.

-If one dies, so does the other

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Author's Notes: I do not own Harry Potter, but I do take great pride in the plot and creation of any added scenery to said world.

Warning: This will be a dark fic. Abuse, rape, profanity, consumption of alcohol. Don't like it, do not read it. Simple as that. There will be Dramione interaction right off the bat. People have the tendancy to point that it doesn't happen quick enough despite me saying it's take a bit longer than normal. If multi-chapter fics are not your thing, then fine. Don't read it.

Read and Review.

As always, enjoy.

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 **Encomium Ombre**

Prologue

 _Exordium_

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 _A brilliance of the Light_

 _Could only be extinguished by the Dark_

 _Had it been the sole heir of this destruction_

 _That took the shining jewel from the Heavens,_

 _Or the righteous hand of the humans_

 _That stole her for all time_

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The world as it is known today was not always filled with darkness, blood, and destruction.

Aeviternal light and beauty once illuminated the world. It was the love between two considerably different concepts that breathed life into the transient souls of earth, but the gift of life had been taken for granted, beaten and twisted so it became an abomination formed from hatred. If it had not been for the love that the Light displayed and bestowed upon them, the human race surely would have inevitable end their own existence.

Her brilliance blinded and shielded one from seeing the disgusting reality of the world that sat below them, only showing those whose audacity and curiosity overpowered their fears the good of the world while never allowing them to see the evil. It had exhausted her to an unescapable corner where she stood with immeasurable pose and grace. Never once did she waver; she was far stronger than she appeared.

The Darkness knew how troubled she was and how increasingly difficult it became as the decades passed to keep the humans in peaceful deception. He was partly to blame for her exhaustion; he was the one who introduced the world to the absurdities that darkness proclaimed. She never once vocalized ill-will towards him, but instead she would smile lovingly at him as he was not the beast that the humans came to loath. She presented him with kindness, the likes of which he had never experienced. Perhaps it was then that her light shattered his impregnable barricade and as a result opened his heart. It had taken decades for him to muster up the courage just to stand in the proximity of her, and it would take many more years just to start a conversation.

He had taken an unnatural liking to the light; he had spent countless years observing her, watching her as she administered motherly tendencies to a race that he found all too despicable. Somehow he grew to enjoy her company; he yearned for her. However, he could not for the life of him understand her infatuation with something that could easily turn on them as they did in their earliest days. As always, and just as sweetly, she would smile.

With a stunningly strong voice, she said," I am the Light, and without me there would be no life."

He did not understand her. The notion of Light, of Dark, was commonly foreign to him still.

Eventually, he ceased his questions, knowing full well what her answers would be. He never understood them, but took great pleasure of acting as if he did. As the years passed with minimal conflict, which the humans were prone to do time to time, the Darkness found himself growing increasingly concerned about their welfare. By then, his relationship with the Light had changed dramatically. They were known in their realm in the Heavens as Lovers.

Their voices were nothing more than fleeting whispers in the wind. Carried by the righteousness of a gentle cause, the tones passed unnoticed by passive ears. Clothed in nothing but the plain night, the whisperings of their embodiments hurried after the despairing light before it extinguished itself completely from the exposure of their words. As the news of their union drew to a dull end, the Light and Darkness were able to retreat back and enjoy the simplicity of their nature, venturing forward until nothing but the heavy cloak upon their backs, scarcely seen through the heavy haze of the cool night was the only thing that paid true homage to the landscape of their dedication.

Darkness had been watching her for quite some time, always there. Lurking within the furthest reaches of his domain. Not long after their verbal declaration he had taken her. And, it looks like the need to taste her flesh was coming faster than once anticipated.

Just as desperate was man was to breath, he could not go without her for too long.

Beside him stood Light, her bountiful curls bouncing joyfully up and down as she struggled to keep herself from exploding with excitement. There would be one collision tonight, but he did not want her to reach it quite yet.

"Patience, My Light."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Oh, I cannot!"

He chuckled. "You must." The Darkness urged, pulling her closer to her and draping her with his cloak. "Lest you miss something important."

"As if you would allow me that displeasure."

"As excitingly tempting as that is," he swirled her around and pressed his lips to her temple. She giggled harmoniously, sending little vibrations to course through the air. "I cannot."

"Has My Darkness turned over a new leaf?"

"Let us say, I have found one that I can adore for all eternity."

With these words, he produced a single leaf, its coat fresh and crisp, as it should be during this humid time of the year. The trickle of moss and evidence of life literally busted from the seam in which the leaf was created from. A trick that she had taught him some time ago.

"Oh!" She laughed again, this time because of his wandering fingers as they curled around her waist and pulled her even closer to his body. "Stop your advances this instant!"

"I do not think I will." He scattered the stars and helped her rise above the scene. As they ascended the throne of the Heavens once again, he looked longingly into her eyes and another beautifully stunning smile graced his lips. "I do enjoy seeing you so riled up, my Love."

She huffed impatiently, daring not to encourage his childish behavior. "So like a child you are."

He looked at her thoughtfully before a grin spread across his handsome face. "Child, you dare say?"

The Light looked as if she realized her mistake entirely too late. "Do not dare!"

"Dare what, Mea?"

"What you are thinking of doing!"

"And, what would that be?"

Delighted, she let out a gloriously resounding laugh that alighted the Heavens and casted an uncanny brilliance down to swell the breast of earth.

It was these days that he lived for, and ones that he would miss terribly in the years to come.

At first, he thought it was a sick joke, never having really taken a step back from watching the humans long enough to appreciate the woman who stood by his side. He had never taken a good look at the Daphne, but as he gazed at her, his heart pinched inside his chest and he knew from that moment that the feeling he deemed as nothing special was love.

Where love flourishes, hatred is created.

From hatred, destruction follows.

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He stood from the masses. A sickening feeling within his stomach rose to a high level of anxiety and denial. Faceless figures turned to engage his reaction, but none too welcoming of course came when his eyes fell upon her lifeless form.

There, lying on the marbled granite of the Gathering Hall was the Light, her tresses fanned out around her like a makeshift halo. No radiance from above or her portrayal rained down upon her, no utterance of a thriving life, no sign of a beating heart. Her skin was pale as the moon that vanquished the sun; her once dark brown eyes had lost all hope that usually lied within; her life force taken from her just seconds prior the discovery of her immobile form.

The Darkness pressed against the surrounding numbers. They moved out of his penetrating gaze. The pale hue of his covering came away from him, showing the complete destruction of his features. As always, it was his eye that gave away to his anguish, and as he knelt down and asked who had done such a horrible crime, it was his eyes that gave away to his wrath.

No one could provide an answer. But, it did come in the form of shadows as they escaped away from the scene, but not from the omnipotent eyes of the Darkness.

"Who did this to her?" he asked again, his voice rising powerful high with each words. " _Who did this to her_?"

Again, no one answered, too afraid by his anger to voice the turmoil of their thoughts. As his Light's soul rose from the captive body, she smiled down upon him and comforted the saddened beast the best she could.

"My love," she told him, keeping her voice small. Already weakened from the force of her death, she was soon to be reunited with the dead, but not before speaking to the living. "Do not be angry."

"You are betraying me."

"I have no betrayed you." Glassy brown eyes stared into his. "It is they who betrayed us…"

And, indeed they did.

They would all soon pay

Not long after her departure from the living that the Darkness took it upon himself to immortalize their involvement. Two souls divided, two hearts sewn.

He would find her again, if it took a thousand years then so be it. He would not rest until she was found and he was reunited with the concept he loved, and the keeper of the second half of his heart.


	2. Praeteritum Vox

**I do not own Harry Potter, but I do own the books and movies.**

 **Warning: This work of fiction contains mentions of rape, alcohol consumption, profanity, mentions of abuse (sexual, physical, and mental), abuse, and gore. This will be the only warning. If you cannot tolerate such things, then I implore you not to read it. If I do write anything too gory, will soften it and post the unedited version on another site for those who wish to read the full version.**

 _Thank you!_

 _As always, enjoy!_

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 **Encomium Ombre**

Chapter One

 _Praeteritum vox_

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 _Cloaked in the steely grey of the horizon,_

 _He trailed after through the night_

 _Commissioned by the repetitive pounding_

 _Of an ancient heart._

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 **Saturday August 5** **th** **,1994**

In the shrine of the night, one was lead to believe that the figure was nothing more than an illusion displeased by the uncomfortable heat. But no one knew more certainly that the gift that the man wielded would prove to be more than a feigned soul wandering around the dead of night. So, when the simple-minded occupants of the town's main square came waltzing into the local pub for a late night drink and hours of light conversation his presence came unnoticed. What they did not know was that he was very much real, and was on a mission of the most sinister sorts.

His shadow followed right after him, stretching as far as its boundless limitations would allow it. Looking over his shoulder as the wind caught up, his cold, black eyes came to rest on his surroundings. An unpleasant wave of buried reminders was unearthed.

The air was unbearable humid, and as he pressed against the still wind, he came across a scene all too familiar. A tale as ancient as the soil it took place on came to mind. Still as fresh as the planted bud, he could recollect the tragedy that happened on the soil in which he treaded. All too purposely, however, he kicked the debris and rocks, as if rectifying what those bastards of old had done to his soul so many years ago. Nothing could come from retribution unless he sought it out with a whole heart. And that was exactly what he wished to do; unfortunately, the time for that was not this night and he had to wait to get it.

' _This is the right place_ ,' came a voice and he nodded.

"You are right," he commended for his dormant self for speaking. It was times like this that placed a rift between them; both were dominantly present deities that wished to be heard. "I can feel her energy"

' _You are a clever boy,'_ the voice chuckled.

"We are the same, are we not?" he asked with a growl. "Come, I must get a closer look at the grounds.

His long search has brought him to a small town along the name of Little Hangleton. Legends tell of its cursed grounds, of a horrific crime done a woman of worship. For thousands of years, those who supposedly had connections to this woman and the men involved were thrown into a damnation, a kind of brutality, that was impossible to come out of.

Just over the hill stood a shabby home. Most of its windows had been boarded up, tiles were missing from the roof, and the once grandiose building had submitted to the decrepit purpose of being nourishment for the ground in which it stood. Embodied with the echoing screams of the individuals who died, the shadow man looked at it with gripping respect before moving on.

He remained silent. As the night, one may say. His nature was nurtured by the encompassing terrain. It was easy to blend into such a place; none of the villagers were aware of his presence. Even in their deluded state, he was able to blend into the place remarkably well. As he came to rest his feet upon the breast of Gaia, he was able to relieve himself of the prevailing reluctance that came from his travels.

' _Our travels have finally brought us where we must be, boy.'_

He watched as the formidable manifestation of irritation came to life right before his eyes. The symbol of his being was nothing more than a silvery snake casted by the shimmery glow of the moonlight. As a part of him, the man was the true master. For he has been roaming the earth through countless guises for centuries on the search for his missing heart.

"You do not say?" he asked sarcastically. "I wish to know why you have brought me here."

' _For the very reason of coming to terms what has been done in the past.'_ Came the snake's reply. Its shadow intertwined with his and slithered about playfully as if to get him to become one with excitement. But, he could not. Not when there was so much at stake and nothing to be excited about. _'Why do you think you feel a connection here?'_

"We have yet to determine that," the young man said through a forcefully clenched jaw. He was itching to reprimand him for even suggesting such a thing. How can it when a ritual has yet to be performed? "How much further?" he asked instead.

' _We are here.'_ Came its reply. _'You must determine with your own heart and awaken your dormant magic.'_

With that, the snake's shadow slithered away and back to whence it came.

The man's eyes combed the surrounding buildings until they landed upon an openly lit tavern. The snake's haunting words played like an old chord that no matter how hard he willed it, it would not disappear. He could not focus on the task at hand when the remaining half of his heart was aching so. Somewhere out there, she was hurting as well. Whoever it was, he must act quick and align their bodies and souls back up before it was too late.

There, as he reached the grand center of the village, he made his way into the parlor and released the hold he had on the night. His shadow casted away, he was able to breath in the celestial air and relinquish himself of three days of travel. He walked in, gaining no attention whatsoever as he ventured to the back of the tavern and ordered a drink to cool and numb his nerves.

Just as he sat down, his robes bellowing out before him in a godless wind, he caught onto the beginnings of what would be an interesting conversation.

" 'eard 'im not too long ago, I did." said a man with a filthy layer of grim coating his skin. He had come from a long day of work and seemed to be in a desperate need of relaxation. And that came in the form of a good brandy and gossip of the inappropriate sort. "Seen 'im lingering 'round the ol' Riddle House just down the street. Seemed to be he's reliving the day o' their deaths, I reckon."

"Oh!" came a woman's shrilled voice as she joined in on the conversation. She was a pudgy little woman with dark hair sprinkled with grey and white. Her face was red, and had several suspicious spots dotting her face. "Come off it, Riley! Always tryn'a stur up the dirt."

"No one's tryn'a stur up the dirt, Dot." The man by the name of Riley grumbled, shifting comfortably back in his chair. "Jus' tryn'a make conversation."

A man on the other side of the table laughed aloud. "What, with old news, eh?"

"S'not old news, mind." said Riley as he grumbled and leaned back in his chair. "That place is haunted, it is. Been hearing strange things come from it all week an' I reckon someone should go check it out."

"Perhaps you should check it out, then, Riley?" His companion said with a challenging, toothless grin. "Been hearing things, yeah? Might as well go an' see what's causing all the ruckus yourself."

Riley bit back a cunning retort. He did not engage them any further about the Riddle house and its mysterious occupants. Truth be told, he would much rather discuss the recent news involving the disappearance of one of the government officials. She had been last seen outside her workplace last Thursday night and no one has seen her since. But, he knew very well that his drinking buddies wouldn't be up for such a boring conversation about some poor woman getting lost in the dead of night. Their unnoticed guest sure didn't want to bring about boredom by searching his mind with a fruitful attempt to find out what he meant by that he has seen him.

Whoever he had been talking about must have been someone very close to the Riddles, otherwise he wouldn't have brought it up. The shadowed man, hidden in the back of the tavern, knew of the man he spoke of. He's seen him as well, but from a distance.

He was an old, decrepit little man with a limp to his step. From what he has gathered, he's been to war and came back to tend to the garden on the Riddle's small estate. Half a decade ago they lived there. Until this day, their deaths have been nothing short than a mystery. Rumors, really. No one knew the actual facts of how they came to pass; only speculation circulated around the events, embroidered elegantly through the years. The main practitioner being Frank Bryce.

The shadowed man leaned back in his own chair and focused his attention on the man who brought up the sullied tale. Of course, he had been right. Lead to believe that something other than natural causes had occurred in those hallowed walls took place, but he did not know the entire truth. No one did for that matter. His interest in the case intrigued him, and it was with the encouragement of his magic that brought brand new life into the dead conversation. This time, it was not the man who began its tale that brought it up. He sent his magic to the old woman, and forced the words right out of her mouth.

"Been fifty years," she said softly, her gaze travelling to one of the few opened windows. The occupants of the tavern were very much inclined to permeate in their own filth and alcoholic beverage of their choice. "Suppose there really isn't much left to say about 'em, eh?"

"What do you mean, Dottie dear?"

"I mean, they've been cursed. Had what was coming to 'em at the very beginning." said Dot. "Messin' 'round with whatever they was messin' with, it was no surprise that it finally nipped 'em in the arse."

There was a collective grunt of approval that conjured around the large table as each of them tried to place their versions of the tale. All of which came to the shadowed man as nothing more than falsified accusations. None of them knew the truth; it seemed it was up to him to find out what this curse that the woman had thrown around was about and get to the bottom of it before he departed.

He wanted to go to the house and read its magical makeup and see for himself what had caused the death of three perfectly healthy family members. No one just dies without explanation, and for three people to die in the same mysterious fashion was simply suspicious. Even as a demonic spirit, people came to worship him and deliver gifts unto him, but he could not recall receiving anything form the Riddles. After thousands of years, their name did not pop up. Not even once.

Through the years, he has been able to keep track of everything and anything that may pass through his borders. Rarely did he ever venture to the earthly plane, finding its boarding traces a bit too unnerving. When he did, however, it was to mark a new dawn all in hopes of finding his missing heart, only to be sourly disappointed. He has come to the realization that he will never be able to find her. That is, until he felt her heartbeat.

Wherever she was, she was thriving and he would be damned if anyone stood in the way of getting to her.

A ritual must be done in order to pinpoint his missing part; if only he could get these drunkards to speak. It would give him some sort of ground to work on.

Again, he urged them to talk, proving the will and mind of a human sufficiently less powerful than that of a God.

"What curse are you talkin' 'bout, Dottie?"

Dot shook her head, her voice taken from her for a moment before it was given back to her. "Aye, a curse. Some say it's been placed on the grounds before anyone of us were even born. Others, well, they say it came with the family."

"Well, which do you believe?"

The woman looked around apprehensively. If this was the moment that the shadow man was waiting for her to speak than this would be it. He wanted to know; no, he _needed_ to know. Whatever unforeseeable reason that gripped the family and cursed them into oblivion had to be brought to light.

"I think," she looked at each of them before leaning and whispering," that you lot have had enough to drink."

The men bellowed and hollered with all their might, and no matter how much they tried, they couldn't get her to talk.

"Oh, shush the whole lot o' ya!" she hissed. "Always coming 'ere and making such a fuss. Why don't you all go back to your wives and families and stop makin' a pest of yerselves?"

"I came 'ere to relax, not to be nagged by the missus!" yelled one of them as he slammed his tumbler on the table, demanding another round for his mates. "Come and entertain us like you always do, Dottie." He winked, a disgusting smile stretching across his face. Several of his teeth were missing; what little that remained were yellow, and there was something black lining his gums. His hair was thinning; a bald spot sat atop the crown of his head.

Not sort of the attractive man that she was looking for. He would never do.

"Aye, wha'ever happened to that family to have a curse placed on 'em."

"That's what I'd like to know," said someone as they took a long swig of their drink. "Must've been somethin' really bad for it to befall all three of 'em. Reckon Frank has somethin' to do wif it?"

"Wouldn't get it passed him, I wouldn't." another man chimed in. "Always been ruddy strange."

"I say they got what was comin' to 'em," said a man, pounding his fast, chubby fist against the wooden table in a fit of demanding rage. "That girl an' that man. Their boy was no better. A lil' strange if you ask me. The whole lot of 'em, they were! Gla' that they're gone."

From what he was able to gather, the man had been but a teenager when he first encountered the Riddles.

"Oh, Richie," Dot chimed in, reprimanding him for his drunken delusions. Out of all the travelers, he had to be the most open-minded. Both in his sober and drunken states. "Must you say such things?"

"Why the hell not?" he took another chug from his tumblr, splashing the contents all over the front of his cotton shirt and black trousers. He burped loudly, gaining a few hoots that sounded all over the room. His gaze was fixed on the woman behind the bar. "Always running 'round like they owned the damn place. Shame that they didn't get the boy. S'a bunch of weirdos if you ask me!"

"No one asked you," growled a voice.

Everyone turned around, trying to find the owner of the threatening voice. Once they did, they sunk into their seats and said nothing.

"D'you dot a problem, Walsh?" asked the man. "Got something ter say, now do we?"

He shook his head and took a leisure swig from his tumblr.

"Leave 'im alone Richie!" Dot bellowed from the bar.

The man by the name of Richie shot a nasty look towards the bar where the entrance to the kitchen was located. Giving the woman a rather obscene gesture, he elicited a deep, throaty roar from his mates.

Dot rolled her eyes and walked away, venturing to the back of the room where she knew she was safe from their antics. The men hooted loudly until their voices dialed down to nothing but a few grunts and groans. None of them spoke for quite some time and as the woman by the name of Dot came by to refill his tumbler, the man held out a hand over it in anticipation what was to come.

"I do hope they aren't bothering you, lad." she said, smiling. "They aren't so bad once yeh get to know 'em."

"That's quite alright," he said, returning the smile. "I'm used to such a boisterous atmosphere."

"Ah, yeh are?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." The man told her politely. "I go to school with some… interesting individuals. You know how they can be."

"Ah, s'been some years but I remember." She chuckled unevenly. "Can I get yeh anything else?'

The man looked up at her with imploring eyes but shook his head. Just as she smiled, turned around to walk away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She spun to look at him, her eyes going wide. He did not falter in the slightest.

"I do have to ask."

"An' what would that be?" she asked hesitantly.

"About what they said… The Riddles?"

"Oh, yer were listening to that?" She shook her head, placing the pitcher onto his table and placing her hands importantly on her hips. "You don' want ter to hear that legend, yeh don'."

"But I insist." He challenged her with a fleeting, yet brilliant smile. One that was sure to swoon even the most hardened woman.

And it did.

No less than three seconds passed that his charming elegance got the better of her and her superior stance was shot down. She looked utterly defeated, but all the more captivated by his charm. Her eyes gleamed with recognized worth, something he has been able to pick up on fairly easy through the years.

"Aye," she nodded, her voice soft. "Aye, al 'right. I'll tell ya."

The woman shifted uncomfortably on her feet before sitting down across from him. The man leaned back in his chair importantly once again. There would be nothing that came from this conversation that he already heard about or came across in the distant past. He was only prolonging the inevitable by speaking to her.

And would it be a bad thing?

He didn't have to be told the legend when he has already lived it once before. But, still. Nothing life-changing would come from it, so he really didn't have to worry too much.

"There is a legend around these parts that speak of two deities." The woman told him in a low voice. "An' as legend tells it, this land has been cursed because of them. Dark times, I tell yeh. Our ancestors disgraced themselves and the cursed been passed down through generations."

"What does this have to do with the Riddles?" the man asked, eager to know the missing piece of the puzzle.

The woman looked him dead in the eye and said," Tis the Riddles that defiled the maiden."

A darkness gripped them like a strong, inescapable vice. Cold, grey eyes bore into hers, willing her to continue. He wasn't just intrigued by this point; he was seething with hidden rage that threatened to take over his entire body. His blood boiled, his magic flaring about him like a whip made purely of dark matter.

"Their whole family s'been living here fer centuries. The whole lot of them were into some strange things. Even when I was a little girl, they've always been very withdrawn. Perhaps I should start from the very beginning…"

"Please," he whispered through clenched teeth.

The woman nodded, swirled her finger around the rim of the pitcher and carried on.

"One thing we pride ourselves in is our folklore," she said warily. "Good or the bad. Doesn't matter. We are traditional folks with simple livings. Even our legends are told to our children so they can carry on with our legacy. But, some things are better left unsaid."

"Legends goes that not only this land used to be blessed with light, but the whole world as well. This light came as a maiden who was created to protect the world from 'arm an' bring life to the desolate land. It was durin' this time that darkness was created and the humans started to rebel. For thousands of years they stood as one until one day they came together as one and all Hell broke out. Mind you, light and dark are not supposed to co-exist peacefully, bu' they somehow managed. It was a pretty thing they did, and the humans had some inkling to ther union and came up with a plan to break 'em apart.

"It was no secret that the maiden liked to venture to earth; it was 'er favorite place aside from the Heavens. Darkness warned her about venturing to the land of the humans, for he knew of their destructive powers. He had given them those powers, he did. Felt guilty since the beginning of their introduction. O'course, she was a free spirted-type and wouldn' listen to his pleas, mind. Said that she didn't have ter worry about 'em, that they wouldn' dare harm somethin' that brought such light and positivity to their lives. Oh… how wrong she was." The woman wiped the corner of her eye as if relaying the legends of her land and people was such an unbearable burden.

"They weren't together fer long before she came to earth and was captured by a group of men. Defiled, tortured and thrown out to die a slow, painful death. The Gods wasn't the one ter find her. Legend tells of some Nymphs finding her and- "

"They were not Nymphs."

"Wha' was that?"

"Nymphs did not find her," the man said with agonizing ease. It took a lot of channeling to control the anger that rose from the depths of his broken soul not to lash out and strangle each and every one of these drunken fools. "The Guardians of her temple found her. And, she was just clinging onto the last bit of life that she had when they discovered her."

"W-wha' are yeh-"

"Her body was defiled, yes, but that is not the entire story." With each word, his voice rose until the only thing that kept gripping entertainment besides the alcohol was his legendary voice. "She had been taken when she was roaming alone on earth during the dead of night. Taken by some worshippers that thought performing a ritual and getting rid of the maiden would bring rain to their otherwise scorched lands. What they did not realize was that they did not have to perform a ritual and kill the Goddess that would have gladly give them that rain, All they had to do was simply offer something in return for it. The maiden was a gentle soul; it doesn't come across often that you find someone so pure and mesmerizing. When they defiled her body, drew her blood and spilled it upon the breast of Gaia, they were not paying homage to anyone but their bestial souls. She died just so they could realize that that they had been tricked.

"You are right about the Riddles being strange and introverted, but what your precious legends did not expose that it was the Riddles who forced these people to retaliate, thus bringing about this curse that you have spoken of."

The man stood, allowing his magic to flare out around him and allow them to believe of its foul redolence. As he walked away from the table, leaving the woman gaping at him like some horror-struck corpse, he let his eyes travel around the room, appealing to the other residence of the tavern. They had been listening, that he knew. Their awe was written all over their faces with lustrous ink.

It was in the silver lining of the moon that he was able to escape from their prying eyes and back into the arms of the familiar bay of the night. Their foolish inquiries and horrible depictions of the past had proven to be nothing more than a mockery of the past. If only they had been told the truth, or at the very least kept record of what actually occurred.

Nymphs, really.

Distained by this epiphany, he became one with his surroundings once again but not before a voice called out to him and he turned to see who dared to intrude on his escape.

"Reveal yourself." he hissed, his voice echoing off the open land.

A man stumbled out of from the light of the alleyway, almost tripping on his feet as he made his way slowly towards him.

He recognized the man immediately. He was the one by the name of Richie. The man was a short, yet thick sort of fellow with wide shoulders and a boarding presence. His brown was wild with unkemptness and heavy from the amount of sweat that rolled down his wide forehead. Much like his hair, his beard was in no better condition, having been splashed with his choice of drink and everything else that didn't manage to get through the gates of his lips. Deeply settled eyes and a small, pigged nose made him look more like a cubby rodent than an actual man. The shadowed figure was not impressed by his appearance and remained calm when he threw the bottle of whiskey that he had been clutching in his hand.

"w'ere you goin', eh?" he asked, stumbling forward and catching himself on the bricked wall beside him. "I've got a word to pick with ya."

The man chuckled darkly.

How absurd of him to think that he stood a chance picking a fight with him. A man that held more power in a single cell than he did in his entire line of ancestors. What was he playing at by demanding a round with him? As humorous as it was, he wasn't about to waste any more time than he already has. Midnight was approaching and he had to act fast before the alignment was lost until the following month.

"And what do you have to say, Richie?"

"How d'you know my name?" he bellowed, his voice fanning out and creating an unpleasant ring inside his ear.

He frowned, not knowing exactly how to answer his question. He knew more than just his name; his life story was imprinted on his soul and hands, after all. It was in his eyes that he searched, however.

"I know more than just your name," he snickered. "Got nasty temper, don't you? Been hanging around here a little too long, eh?"

The shadow man stepped forward, admiring that his guest hadn't realized what was going on. They always were painfully slow. Their creation was nothing more than a joke, too.

"Come a' me, yeh bastard!" He yelled, bringing his hands to his chest and throwing himself at him. "Come a' me!"

In a blink of an eye the man disappeared into the night. The drunken elder looked around, stricken with utter curiosity and shock. His diseased heart hammered inside his large chest; he could practically feel the years of gluttony play his body and heart like a nasty symphony of delectable torches. He was at the end of his rope, so why should he live the rest of his hours cowering behind such lies?

"I've been watching you." He told him, pressing against his air of comfort. "Seen some disturbing things that isn't very glorifying, I am afraid"

"What're you-"

The dark figure came up to him, his steely eyes drawing in all light and dispersing the dark. For a moment, his captive was caught in his web and it was then that he released his full power and felt around inside his mind. What he found was quite disturbing to say the least, and he was planning on making the man see the error of his ways.

"You're a little pedophile, my dear friend." The shadow continued to press against his personal space. He could see the flicker of acknowledge in his eyes at hearing his words. This was when they tried to deny their inner most secrets. Desires such as touching young ones was more than just frowned upon. It was a sin. Their purity, their innocence, how can anyone try to take that away from them before they were able to live their lives as they were meant to?

"Your secret is that you like touching little boys, hmm? Thought that no one would be able to catch onto your little secret, yes? Does your wife know? I'm certain that she does, but she likes to deny what is right in front of her as well. You've been defiling your son for some years now and no matter how many times he's come to your wife she doesn't believe him. She's too caught up in her own little world to care. No doubt surrounding herself with the belief that her current lover will stay, too. Did you know she has taken a lover? It appears like you had no clue. Just like she's instilling the false belief that he'll stay into her mind and heart, you're drowning your own sorrows in alcohol. Neither of you can't bear to be reminded of a life that could've been yours, but I'm here to tell you that you got what you deserved."

If the man before him didn't look taken aback before, then he certainly did in that very moment. His whole life had been delivered to him on a silver plate, free from any absurdities such as blinding coverings and drapes of displaced shame.

"Y-er wrong!" he insisted into the demanding scope of the night.

The God laughed. "Oh, I am?" he asked. "Shall we take a gander at your memories? Freshen it up a bit?"

Images of his misdeeds came to him like a dream. His hands, his filthy hands came out to play and he could see and hear the pleading tones and whimpers of little boys as the man touched them inappropriately while insisting that it was okay. But it was not okay. He projected these images right in front of him as to allow him to see what he has been keeping all these years. Wide hazel eyes, and gaping mouth was all that was left of him after the scenes of raping children and touching them while pretending that adult had the right to do what he has done. That it did not make them any less human to do so.

Oh how very wrong he was.

Whimpering, the man got done to his knees and vomited onto the ground, coating his already disgraced hands with the contents of his stomach.

As that scene came to a sudden, uninterrupted halt, the next scenic view blossomed from its depths and came to light. It was a scene of his first wife, a woman that he loved dearly, a woman that he would have done anything for if it was not for his temper. It was his troubles and outbursts that forced her to retaliate, and it was his actions that killed her. Her blood, along with the tears of the children he's touched, coated his ungrateful hands. His sins would forever be branded against his flesh, traced inside the blood that swims through his veins.

It would be in the same manner that his first wife and those children that would finally end his reign.

A scream rang out but it did not belong to the whimpering man that had found companionship with the dirt. It was his wife's. She came to them as a ghost unresolved; glimmering in the moonlight, a woman not much older than twenty, her shadowy form hovered before him. His eyes were drawn to her unnatural beauty; if she had not been covered in blood, her skull caved in with the incessant blows that it had sustained and the opened wounds where she was pierced with a knife and then caressed with his foul fingers and other appendages she would have been quite beautiful.

' _You call for me, my Lord?'_ she asked, raising her head the best she could.

Her Lord tilted his head, analyzing her skeptically. "Yes, I did."

She floated toward him and smiled. It was a misshapen kind of smile, one that would make anyone cringe for she had no tongue. Her voice and words were being transmitted by her connection she had with him.

' _What is it that you need?'_

"You must tell me," he began, looking at her then at her living husband," what I must do to avenge you."

Before she could speak, he grasped her cold wrist and whispered," I know you are scared, but it is now that I can assist you. Allow me to do this and you shall move onto the next world."

' _B-but,'_ her eye swirled around the shattered hole that was left of her eye socket.

All the while, the man was being haunted by image after image, reliving the hours and days of his own misfortune. As the demented God watched, he learned of his inner desire to get back at the father that had sullied his soul when he was a child by inflicting the same pain that he felt onto others. His wife had been the only one behind his attacks until she became pregnant and he stopped his beatings. It wasn't long after their son's first birthday that he killed her, driving an old hammer into her skull, cutting off her tongue and driving his parts into her deceased body and burying her in the backyard. All the while accusing her of being a harlot and cheating on him with some random bloke.

Amelia Richie was her name, he had gathered. She would have been a mother once again if it hadn't been her living husband's insanity and mental illness that drove him to take that away from her.

"What shall I do to him to avenge your death and the death of your child?"

She looked at him with sad eyes. It had been her beating heart's desire to seek the revenge that she has been wanting all these years. As a woman of the bible, the old testament, he saw that she wished for him to die in the same manner as she. Only then he would know what she felt, and what trust and sanctuary was broken when he delivered the first blow.

The God chuckled. "You know not what you ask for."

' _You wish not to help?'_ she countered, bobbing up and down like a peaceful lure in the water. _'He hurt me. It is only natural that he gets what he has given to another.'_

It took a moment for him to reply, and when he did he murmured," Indeed." Then he turned away and looked at the writhing man rolling around on the ground. A sadistic smirk played on his lips. "Unlucky for him, you wish not to be parsimonious. You wish for him to feel exactly what you have felt, then so be it. I warn you, leave here before you witness my wrath."

"You shall me avenged, my dear." He told her. "Go, now. They are awaiting."

They looked up to find the blinding spirits of the heavens. She had earned the privilege of venturing through the gates of Heaven; her husband has not.

The woman smiled the best to could before drifting away and joining the other restless souls. Angel came and swept her up, and they all shot up through the sky, disappearing like a small burst of light. He watched for a moment before turning back to the man and calling on his servants to perform the deed that has been taken from his suiter's heart.

A dark chuckled imitated form within his chest as his servants arrived, hungry for the taste of flesh. It has been entirely too long since they have fed.

"Do be gentle with him," he drawled," as he was gentle with the people he has touched with his hands."

While his servants advanced on the man as he laid tormented by his own misdeeds, the God stepped back to watch what was about to take place.

"S-s-stay back!" he yelled, clawing at the dark figures as they crawled up his legs and tore at his trousers. "G-get off me!"

"They do not answer to you."

Richie looked at him in utter bewilderment and bit out," Wha' in bloody Hell do you think you're doin'?!"

The God tilted his head and laughed rapturously to the glorious wind. " _Delivering unto you what you have delivered unto others_."

With widened eyes, the man stared at him as the demented creatures found their way underneath his clothing.

They waited, and with a whispered command they tore at his clothing, their long claws digging underneath his skin until he was covered in a river of blood, his skin covered with teeth marks and cuts, and was screaming on top of his lungs for mercy.

But none came.

He laid there as he was pushed onto his hands and knees, the little creatures drawing more blood and burrowing into his body, nestling themselves amongst the muscle and bone. Their small hands and fingers played him like a demonic instrument and soon other parts of their bodies submerged themselves in the depth of his body. As another scream tore from his throat, forcing the overused flesh to become raw and swollen, something came up behind him, tugged his trousers down and entered him with an impossibly large prick that tore him from the inside out. He called out, crawling at the dirt until his nails fell off from his fingers and no sound came from his mouth. Stained tears fell from his eyes in aligned synchronization.

"P-p-please, 'elp m-me!" he begged to deaf ears. "I-I-I'll be g-good! I-I'll be good this time!"

The deity stood and watch every bit of the scene until he could no longer take the pained screams as it sent him straight back to the very day that his love was defiled in the same manner as the man before him.

"How many times did they scream for mercy as you drove your dick inside of them?" He wondered aloud. "How many times did your wife scream before she took final breath?"

No answer came from the man as the beast that taken him exploded within his deep channel, his semen covering his bloodied, used body. He pulled out, allowing his dick to flop lifelessly at his tight before finding sensuality once again. Within moments, a chant was made, making the man vulnerable as he had been before being rape and defiled. He was fucked in the same manner by another demon, this time without the mercy of the first.

"This is your punishment, "the deity said to him in a low voice. "You have provided this end for yourself."

He then turned to his servants, almost admiring their work on the decrepit old man.

"You know what to do." he told him with a sneer. "Do not stop until he is painted in red and dripping with white."

He gave them his last command and set out to where he was meant to be. Tossing his shadow to the wind, the man disappeared into the darkness and rescued the night.

When he finally landed on the deserted reaches of the village, his hand came to grasp his cloak, his fingers spraying across his chest. His breathing came in labored pants, his heart pounding abnormally slow. Never in his long existence that he felt such a powerful churn of magic until now. Awakened by this revolution, the God looked up to the heavens, calling to them before circling his magic around him to perform the ritual that first set out to do before the night was ripe.

At the call of midnight, he found what he was so desperately praying for.

A beat of a heart.

* * *

 **A/N:** Been going through some things these past several days. It has taken a bit of toll on me, but I'm back :) Just had to edit this chapter today. Oh! Happy Fourth of July ^-^

Take care!

Don't hurt yourselves with those sparklers! :)


	3. Excitatus

**I do not own Harry Potter, especially the bit during the Great Hall scene, haha.**

 _As always, enjoy_

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 **Encomium Ombre**

Chapter Two

Excitatus

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.¸¸.

The pain burned within

Until a hand settled upon the breast

Of the maiden

And awoken her from her slumber

.¸¸.

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 **Thursday September 1** **st,** **1994**

She woke up to a startling spike of pain. Her heart burned from the fire that blossomed from her breastbone, through and out from the center of her chest and down her torso. A desperate breath was stolen from her as well as her voice whilst the pain engulfed her. Sweat seemed to trickle down her brow and temples as she thrashed about the lumpy seat. A hand came to rest on her shoulder, but she was too frightened to notice and too scared to listen.

"Hermione!" the voice seemed to get louder. Through the haze that had been created from the heat of the moment, she was able to find control in her breathing and calm down long enough to address the frantic calls of her best friend.

"I-I'm fine," she insisted, pushing Harry's hand away. "Had a nightmare."

It was not entirely untrue. She did have a nightmare that unfortunately resulted in the embarrassment of having her friend see her scream and thrash about like a child having a total meltdown. Oh, Merlin. She was just not going to live this down and it was clear that the coming weeks would bring about probably the worst in both of them. As deceptive as Harry's outer appearance was, he has always worn his heart and emotions somewhat on his sleeves. That included the concern for a friend.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his green eyes sparkling with worry. "You looked like you were fighting something. Was it your chest again?"

Slowly she nodded. Biting her lip, Hermione shifted into a sitting

For the last several months she has been experiencing these odd episodes of heart palpitations. These fluttering irregularities in her heartbeat had not been a cause for alarm until just recently. During the Quidditch World Cup she had experienced the same exact thing. Only then, had plummeted to the worse pain she has ever felt. Her lungs and heart had compressed until all blood flow and air stopped and was sucked form her awaiting body; her senses slowly dissolved until she couldn't feel a thing. Just seconds into this crazy ordeal, she blacked out and from what Harry and Ron had told her, she almost over the banister where they were seated. Only their hands saved her from falling to certain death as they were several feet in the air.

It was a scene that continued to play in her mind until this day.

How could she have been that close from dying? All because of some unknown illness that chose to plague her. Not that she wanted someone else to be inflicted with this curse; who heartless person would? She just wished there was a way to control it better. All she had at the present moment was an assortment of potions that Mr. Weasley suggested that she asked Madam Pomfrey upon arriving to Hogwarts.

Another spectacular confrontation. She was either sure to die from mortification rather than an irregular heartbeat, which she was sure would be an intriguing little notes the obituary.

"Have you taken in of the potion's Mr. Weasley gave you?"

"No, I was waiting until something like this happened."

"What, were you testing some sort of theory?" asked Harry with a harsh tone. He reached out and tried to touch her arm.

"Something like that," she smiled weakly as she slapped his hand away.

The black-haired boy frowned, attending to his injured hand as if she nipped him with a pointy end of a blunt object.

"You don't have to be so mean, 'Mione. I was only trying to help."

"As much as I appreciate it," she said, digging through her enormous satchel and pulling out two different sized potion bottles. One was pink and smelled distinctly of bubblegum and the other was a muddy hue that reminded Harry of overturned dirt in the middle of a lake. "Can you hand me the last one?"

"Which one? There are at least five others," he said with distaste. Unless she bought these before the game, he didn't understand why she has so many to begin with.

"The one with the golden rim." She reached over and plucked the tiny bottle, eyeing the others suspiciously. "Those must be Fred and Georges. Mrs. Weasley didn't brew any blue colored potions. Let alone anything that white and sparkly."

"Reckon they were trying to poison you?"

"Or merely humor me?" she suggested with a small giggle. "Come on, Harry. They were only trying to be nice. They were just as concern as you and Ron were."

"Get away!" cried Ron's voice as he startled himself away, his eyes scanning their small compartment. Odd as it was, his outburst couldn't have come at a better time. The tension between them had become unbearable, and they both could use a bit of light humor to get them going.

"What's chasing you now, Ron?" asked Harry as he tried to contain his laughter.

"T-the spiders!" the red-haired boy sobbed. "Little tiny things. And t-the pixies…"

"You tell those awful things to leave you alone!" insisted Hermine as she too struggled with containing her amusement.

Ron nodded. He settled back down in his seat and immediately went back to sleep. His loud snoring would have shaken the windows and rattled the compartment door if it were not for the unstable ground in which the Express was travelling on.

Hermione let out a giggle. Her hand came up to shield the fact that she found their friend's sudden outburst quite entertaining. Oh, yes. Leave it to Ron to ruin a perfectly serious moment!

"Sometimes I worry about him…"

Harry looked at her seriously for a moment before he found the courage to address the greater situation.

"Maybe you need to stop worrying about others and start worrying about yourself."

"Harry…"

"I'm serious, Hermione. What happened at the World Cup scared the shite out of us. They are just too hesitant to tell you."

"They know they can tell me anything."

"Yes, but they also know that you tend to overact sometimes." he countered a bit too harshly. "Just because they care doesn't mean you can act as if it's the last thing you want when we all very know where your heart is sewn."

Time seemed to be an adversary to them.

"I think you need to a bit more careful from now on." said Harry quietly. For a moment silence stretched between them and it was in this silence that Hermione realized what he was saying might be some help to her. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to be more aware of her surroundings, to think before she acts. All those sort of things. "Fancy a treat from the cart?"

Hermione returned her friend's grin. It's been a while since she has been able to relax and she did quite fancy something sweet that would hold her over for the rest of the rain ride. While Harry looked around for his jacket, probing Ron awake and bribed him into accompanying him, Hermione settled back into her seat and took out the book she had been reading before she fell asleep. Crookshanks came prancing in, his bushy tail snapping in the air behind him as he clamored into the compartment after Harry and Ron before stretching his body and jumping onto the seat. Hermione reached out and ran her fingers through his long mane, admiring the way he purred appreciatively. He was due for another trim, which she planned on taking care of that once classes started. She couldn't very well perform the quick spell halfway to Hogwarts, now can she?

While Crookshanks buried his head into the space between her back and the seat, Hermione opened her book and let out a pleasant sigh.

Reading was definitely her favorite pastime and she could always count on it when she was at her lowest. As always, it was easy for her to submerge herself into the dramatic text of her tomes and become one with the characters and their beautiful surroundings. Oh, to find oneself in their places… how she secretly longed to be there.

She pulled her legs to the seat, finding the confined position where her legs rested slightly underneath her body in a way comforting. Just as she tucked herself in, the door rattled unexpectedly, causing the Muggle-born to look up from her book.

Although there was no visible disturbance, there was a physical one. The compartment grew unnervingly cold. A grip the likes of which she has never felt was placed upon her shoulder as the biting ice penetrate deep within her bones and body. She felt vulnerable and open in place. Her mind was completely free from any thought, and as she sat there, drawing deep, unsteady breaths through her parted lips, she prayed for a quick end. An end that didn't come even when the door opened and a towering figure stepped in.

Of course, the intruder was a person she least expected. She was able to breath in some sort of relief regardless of the fact that one of the last people she would expect was now standing in front of her, opting still for tailored trousers and a nicely fitting dress shirt. Why he decided to grace her with his broad presence was simply beyond her. His confounding example, his appallingly arrogance and his affinity to bullying that edge almost on abuse, Draco Malfoy was certainly the last person she thought she would find wanting her attendance.

Hermione's brows drew together and frown that she was so used to expressing hard rearranged her nice features.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she tried not to snap but there was a harsh bite to her tone.

The older Slytherin looked around the room until his steel eyes landed on her. Her breath hitched when they did as she attempted to conceal her own worry behind a veil of unprecedented fulfillment.

"Granger," he drawled, greeting her in the same toneless voice. "I am pleased to find you so readily available, but must I remind you not to take that sort of tone with me every time we meet? Can you at least try to be civil with me? I did save your life at the World Cup."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on the arrogant prat. Even though she couldn't deny the fact that he had been one of the first people to come to her aid, almost sensing her destress from several seats below them, she couldn't bring herself to be the least bit appreciative that he saved her from certain doom. As it was, she still hasn't figured out why he did it, why he even casted the charm that saved her from falling in the first place. It was as if he had known that something horrible would happen to her that thought, otherwise he wouldn't have had told her to stay safe during her visit.

Her relationship with him was rocky at best. Although two years separated them they acted as if they had been rivals since the beginning of their magical education. They were both at the top of their classes and no one came close to beating their records and or impressive qualifications. With that said, it was more of a friendly alliance than a hostile friendship.

"How have you been?" he asked, seating himself across from where she sat curled up.

She shrugged. "Been better. You?"

He smirked. Gods, it took her breath away. "Better, I assure you."

"Oh, God." She said, appalled. "You're not here to hound me about my lack of concern or that I should be more considerate with what almost occurred?"

"I was hoping I would be able to speak to you about that…" he said truthfully. "Has Pottie and Weaslebee hounded you about the fact that you almost died, or have you finally come to terms with this strange illness that you have so casually thrown to the wind?"

"Harry may have mentioned something along the lines of being more aware," she murmured softly. "Is that why you've decided to grace me with your presences, Malfoy? I'm very much aware of-"

"No, you are not."

"Do not tell me-"

"Shut the hell up, Granger," his voice darkened immediately at her retaliation. And she did. Wide eyes stared into his and for a moment she believed she would break down right in front of him. But she didn't. Instead, he smiled at her. "Does it always have to be this hard between us? Must we fight every time we meet?"

'I don't know. It wouldn't be a rivalry if there wasn't a least a little quarrel."

Draco chuckled at this. "Yes, well, we are not talking about our petty attempts to get under each other's skin."

"Then what are we talking about?" she asked, brow raised. "If you are here to…"

A single finger brushed against her bottom lip and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Do you ever stop talking?" he whispered.

She stayed silent, not trusting her own voice to speak. For once, this was what he meant that she was too talkative, too oblivious to other people to notice the affect she had on them.

"Good, now we can talk." He leaned back in his chair, pulled out something from his pocket. Hermione tried to respect his privacy, but even she couldn't contain the curiosity that blossomed from deep within her body. "As much as you would like to dismiss what happened at the World Cup as nothing more than a near fatal accident, I took it upon myself to get gather a couple of potions for you. It should help with your chest pains. My mother was the one to brew them. Do not worry, though. I stayed and made sure no one contaminated them. I would not want some other force trying to take you from me when I have not even dealt with the first calamity."

Hermione's eyes casted down to the small phials in Draco's large hand. To think that he even took the time to have his mother brew something so complex and time consuming was nothing short than inspiring. Grateful for the potions, she reached out a little too enthusiastically and he grabbed her around the wrist and force her body to collide with his.

"D-Draco?" she asked, her words coming out in a tumble of words.

He held her there for a minute before allowing her fingers to wrap around the three phials.

"Take them." He murmured in a breathless whisper. "Take them for me."

His voice was strained and singed with worry. She grabbed hold of the back of the seat and lifted herself up before she sat back and settled down. Brushing a dark strand of hair behind her ear, she looked at the phials calmly, analyzing its magical structure within the tiny confinement of the worried glass.

"Wh-what are they?" she dared ask.'

"This one," he pointed a slender finger at the tiniest phial," will restore the natural composition in your blood. Mother thinks your illness goes past the natural boundary of medicine. As you are probably aware, it is not only your magic that has been compromised but your entire being as well."

"How did you-"

"I have my resources, Hermione." He said as if it were the most obvious thing. "I am currently studying underneath one of the greatest Potion's Master. Did you really think I have not done my own research?"

"I-I might have overlooked the possibility." she murmured with a soft stumble or words. "What are the other two for?"

"Well," he glanced at the others nonchalantly, as if their importance were of no significance. "Do not hate me, but I received a little help from Snape with these two."

"How much is a little?" She frowned, wanting to throw the phials more than ever.

"Semantics," he waved his hand in show of lack of respect for his Master's help. "Anyway, they are more in their testing stage than anything. They are safe to consume, and after all the research we did we think we have found a nice cocktail of potions to keep you somewhat normal."

"What do you mean somewhat?" she asked softly. "If you have brewed an assortment of potions and think for moment that I'm going to take them then you are dead wrong Draco Malfoy!"

Draco tossed her silly little outburst to the wind and leaned in closer to her. Their bodies brushed invitingly together, calling to the other in the simple, haunting dance that they were so used to hearing in each other's closeness. They didn't submit to the call, however. Not this time at least.

His finger brushed against her bottom lip as his eyes connected with her. They remained like that, but the waves upon waves of rising anger was a tangible grip that Hermione wished would lift.

"You will take these," he said calmly and after a few minutes of unsuppressed silence, "even if a I have to uncork the damn bottle and force fee you."

"You wouldn't." she dared.

"Oh, yes. I would." He smirked. "You would not deny a man who has spent the last several months working over a hot cauldron, would you? Besides, it would benefit the both of us greatly if you learned to listen to me for once. I can assure you that it is not as hard as it sounds."

Hermione's frown deepened. How dare he even accuse her of not having the ability to listen and adhere to the simplest of instructions!

A thought occurred to her quite suddenly and before she could stop herself she asked the question that she was hoping he would answer.

"How do you know all this?" she finally asked, her hands clenching around the phials like a small life line. Her eyes searched his for an answer but found known. She desperately wanted to know why he had gone to such lengths to find out what might be ailing her. For one, she wanted to know that he went out of his way to have these potions brewed for her. Rivals by default, a whisper of friendship or what have you, it caused much alarm for her. His interest in her health was not healthy to say the least. "Answer me! How do you know all this? Why did you have your mother and Snape brew these for me?"

"Can you just be grateful for the gesture?' he snarled at her, eyes growing dark, the same penetrating coldness draping over her shoulders like a heavy shawl. "We may not see eye to eye all the time but I am not as heartless to wish death upon a fellow student."

"Never stopped you before in the past," she snapped, debating with herself whether throwing the phials would be a good idea or not. Clearly, it wasn't. But she liked to believe that she held that control over him. "Why does my life hold a higher seat than others?" she cried. "Why is this any different?"

Silence prevailed, and unbeknownst to the little Gryffindor, she was unaware of the darkening presence that came to hail like a tyrant in the compartment.

"As much as I'm grateful for the potion's, Draco, I just don't understand why you went to such length to procure them for me."

The second she uttered those words she knew she would live to regret them. Never in her four years of knowing the older Slytherin has she seen such a drastic change in his demeanor, the way his would flicker from one hue suddenly to the next, the way the skin near his eyes grew tight. When she turned to meet his gaze, she was stunned to find that she was at the mercy of his intense, unbreakable hold. It was as if someone stole away the light and replaced it was perpetual night. A coldness she has never felt before settled about them. The hand of some unknown assailant gripped the very air in which they breathed, and it seemed that she was the only one to be afflicted with the mysterious ailments.

Her body felt incredibly cold beneath her thin jumper. Her very skins crawled as if it were being pricked by a million needles one by one. Her breath came out painfully slowly, only to be brought out and given back to just as harshly. The corners of her eyes swelled with tears; she has never seen Draco so angry, and she knew she would definitely be scorned by his fury.

Something soft began to caress her cheek and she had to blink serval times to alleviate the fright that had built up inside her like a tight ball.

Draco was not sitting next to her with the great distance that separated. He was now sitting close beside her, his fingertips trailing light lines down her cheek, his eyes scanning her petrified face.

"Tell me, Granger," he drawled, keeping his rhythm careful and timed. "Why should it not matter?"

"I don't know." She all but whispered.

"What was that?" he asked, pressing his hard body into her side. "I did not hear you?"

"I said, I don't know." She reiterated her last statement in stunned horror.

"If you do not know," he inched closer and pressed his lips to the shell of her right ear. "Then I will tell you when the time is right. For now, rest."

And rest could not come soon enough.

* * *

When she awoke less than an hour later, she could hardly remember what caused her to drift back to sleep. All she knew was that she somehow acquired three little phials received a message from a secret admirer to feel better soon, and a migraine the size of the Black Lake Either way, she was slightly confused and completely disinterested. All she wanted was to go back to sleep, but her friends had a better way of spending the last remaining two hours and that did not involve getting more sleep.

Harry and Ron came back some time after she awoke with more candy and treats then their large arms could carry. It took the addition of Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan two Gryffindors in their year just to deliver most of what the boys paid for. After dropping the treats off and digging through the mountain of cavity-causing snacks, Neville and Seamus left but promised to meet up with them later for supper.

Hermione did not partake in much eating, but was surprised to find out that she did in fact fancy something slightly sweet. Once she found what she was looking for, she sat back in her seat with Crookshanks occupying the other and began to nibble sparingly on her chocolate. The phials were left forgotten in her satchel.

Time escaped them quickly, and before they knew it they were drawing near Hogsmeade and they were due to arrive in less than fifteen minutes.

"Go change, will you?" Hermione ordered after coming back from changing into her robes. The boys appeared not to have heard her, so she drew in a sharp, irritated breath in and tried again. "We'll be arriving soon. I suggest that you-"

"Shh!" they hissed as they looked up through the windows whilst effectively silencing her.

She frowned.

No one, not even her friends, were allowed to silence her.

Hermione threw her attempts to get them to listen out the window as she squeezed between the two of them and looked through the window to see what all the commotion was about.

A large blurry object flashed across the available sky. As it did, the three of them drew back, frightened by what it could possibly be. Just as they raised their eyes to the sky once again, something unmistakably white flew into view. With large, majestic wings, glowering manes and strong galloping legs- there was no mistaking what they were witnessing. Right before their eyes were winged horses twice the size of their relatives and they seemed to be drawing a large, slightly golden carriage that sparkled in the dwindling sunlight. These creatures were massive in their stature. All eight of them exhibited the making of real sorcery for they had captured the attention of the entire train. There was a physical rocking due to the occupants of the Express as they tried to get a clear view of the flying horses as they pulled the carriage through the darkening sky.

Even the boys were suspicious and keen with curiosity. Hermione could only agree for she was more than excited to see such magnificent creatures take to the air.

Hermione squeaked with dalliance as Ginny came into their compartment followed closely by Fred and George. They greeted her in their usual, childish way. With the disposition of only know for a toddler to do, they poked at her sides until she screamed with an uproar of giggles for her to stop. They obliged, only then asking how she liked her gifts.

"I found them rather enjoyable." she told them

"Send you in a fit of giggles, eh?" asked Fred cheekily.

"No, Harry told me before I even dared to take a swing of any of them."

"Ah, party pooper!" the twins chimed together and she giggled.

"I say it wasn't a total waste, then." said Fred.

"We gave it to some poor first year and-"

"he didn't take too well to the effects."

"His tongue turned purple-"

"-and acquired some fairly slimily polka dots."

"Back to the drawing board." The twins said together in perfect union.

Hermione stifled another giggle as she backed away from the window. The boys joined Ron and Harry in watching the carriage as it tried to not fly into any oncoming flocks of birds. Its hazard driving was a cause for alarm since whomever was driving nearly collided with the Express. Its numerous attempts to steer the train off the rails was not the spectacle for this evening's festivities, however.

Ginny came to sit down in one of the unoccupied seats. Crookshanks happily jumped onto her side of the compartment and began nuzzling the red-haired girl's robes.

"Exciting, isn't it?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"The carriage, silly!" she laughed. "I've never seen them so enthralled before. I wonder what it's all about."

Hermione had some inkling but why waste a perfectly good moment by spewing her theories to deaf ears. She's read it somewhere in a book, of course. But she couldn't very well rely on the passage from where the information came. It had dated back five-hundred years or so, and she wasn't comfortable enough to rely on the old bit of text.

A flutter of anticipation blossomed from her chest and Hermione immediately went to her satchel to her now growing stash of narcotics. Merlin forbid that people look at her and think she's addicted to this stuff!

To think she still had to go see Madam Pomfrey…

"Is it your chest?" Ginny asked quietly.

Hermione nodded," Yes," she bit out the single word as if it were hard to admit to such weakness. "It's been bothering me for quite a while."

"Have you taken any of the potion's mum made?"

Again, she nodded. "Yeah." Then she thought back to the three small phials that mysterious showed up on her person. "How many did she make, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know." She thought back carefully. "Around four or five, why?"

The Muggleborn shook her head and refused to answer.

It was strange. As much as she appreciated what Mrs. Weasley did for her, she couldn't let go of the feeling that there was something that she was missing. Like an hour or so of time was lost and taken without her knowledge. Like someone wanted to keep her safe but without her compliance. It was a silly thing to think, but was it really?

As much as a burden as it has become for her, she never thought she would be reduced to living on other's charity. Potions and charms just to stay alive was not something she thought she would have to rely on in all her life.

Not in a thousand years.

* * *

Hermione huffed as she walked with her overly zealous cat through the crowded corridors of Hogwarts. Everyone seemed hyped for something they were yet to understand. For whatever it was worth, she still didn't know who their mysterious guests were so she didn't feel like she had an upper hand with any of them. She was just as in the dark as the rest.

"Wonder what it's all about," Neville said as he joined their little group.

Ron and Harry immediately engaged him in deep conversation. Hermione and Ginny were left to exchange a few words here and there whilst they hurried down the corridor and joined the rest of the school at the Great Hall.

"Any brilliant ideas?" she asked, eyeing the older girl suspiciously.

Hermione shrugged. "A few, but nothing worth voicing."

"What, you're not an annoying know-it-all anymore?" the red-haired giggled.

"Watch it, Ginny," Hermione smiled at her, one of a playful sort. "I still uphold that reputation."

"Or so you say."

The Muggleborn drew her friend in and they marched in front of the boys.

Twinkling lights and embroidered banners awaited them as they entered the Great Hall and seated themselves among the scarlet and gold. The Lions were deep in animated discussion. As they walked passed the groups of students, they came to find their usual spot and sat down. Screams and cheers erupted around them as well as excited banter. Once they all settled in, they delved right into the discussion of the carriage and what could be inside.

"Maybe the Minister of Magic is paying us a visit?" offered Ron almost dreamily and Hermione couldn't help but shake her head at his pitiful idea.

"What would the Minister be doing at our humble school," asked George as he followed his twin and sat down.

"Can't imagine what he would be doing here after what happened at the World Cup."

"Are you daft?" Hermione finally asked, causing all heads to turn to her. She was used to their stares, but they looked at her that she was mental one. "If any of you bothered to look at the insignia of the carriage, or even read Hogwarts, a history, you would know!"

"Why doesn't our little bookworm tell us, then?" Fred and George chimed together and she rolled her eyes.

With an insistent shake of her head, she reached for a chalice and poured herself some pumpkin juice. The Sorting commenced and less than an hour later the Hall was mute with quiet conversation and the hum of appreciation for a nice, cooked meal. In all her years, she never once thought too badly about the magical interference behind the cooked meals. As she dug into her grilled chicken and mashed potatoes, Hermione's stomach churned and she placed her fork and knife down onto her napkin and stopped eating.

A wave a nausea encompassed her and it was not from the food. She felt suddenly tired, entirely too sick to even think about eating. As if from habit, her eyes swept over to the Slytherin table and she was met with hard grey eyes. A message embedded in the way he looked at her was all it took and she reached into her satchel and took out one of the phials and let the warm liquid to pass down her throat.

A pleased smile graced his fine features before he was able to go back to eating in the elegant way that he made it seem was so natural and artistic. Hermione blushed just thinking about it as her fingers played with her own utensils and food. She could never live up to whatever standards that he had for a girl, but she could try. And that was all she could possibly have and hope to do. Just as she settled into her seat and food once again, Professor Dumbledore came up to the podium, followed closely by a dark figure who turned out to be none other than Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A covered object was placed in front of them, which elicited a resounding gasp of curiosity and awe. There was a muffle of encouraging words the sounded from all four tables as Dumbledore came and greeted the Hall.

"Eternal glory," his voluminous voice sounded around the grand room. "Eternal glory! That's what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament, but to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks"

Whispered erupted around the Hall as their Headmaster delved into the world that was the Triwizard Tournament. There was an air of familiarity that Hermione could not let go of. She knew she had heard about the tournament somewhere, but she didn't think that it would be held so soon! After the incident in the 1970's, the tournament's rival has been put into question. It was first established several hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

Hermione's breath hitched.

 _Mounted death toll?_ Where they serious?

As much as she appreciated the cooperation between the three schools she hardly though a competition that could easily end in the deaths of the competitors was the way to go.

"As eager as I know you all are for the Triwizard Cup to come to Hogwarts the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year- "there was a resounding burst of disapproval upon hearing the news-"Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them."

Something imploringly sweet captured them and Dumbledore presented them with a pleasant smile.

"Ah, it seems that out guests are restless." He said musingly. "Shall we sit and welcome them?"

Just as Dumbledore took his seat, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and a ballet of women and men wearing off light blue informs came waltzing into the hall in a graceful dance. With silk attire and Walking in a uniformed line of four, the foreigners marched silently into the room. As they passed the rows of students, their hands came out from their body in a purposeful gesture and conjured an array of butterflies that glowed and flew from their awaiting hands and into the air. Suddenly, the ran out of line, many of them dancing around the other until the confusion of the entire dance became too much to handle. The girls Their entrance was bittersweet, lasting only but a minute or two before they came up to the podium and finished their beautiful dance.

As their performance came to an end, a towering woman with short black hair wearing webbed red robes followed behind them. A tight smile was placed upon her lips as her charcoal eyes scanned the Hall before landing on Dumbledore. He stood from his seat and came around to give her a welcoming hug and kiss on both of her cheeks.

"Ah, Dumbly-dorr!" she spoke his name in a heavy French accent.

"My Dear Maxime." He smiled the same twinkling smile that he usual gave to anyone he met.

Hermione watched the interaction as her friends attempted to shake off the effects of the erotic dance that they saw. Harry seemed to have recovered; it was Ronald that she was worried about. While the boys appeared to have shaken off the lasting effects of the cursed evocation.

An insistent tapping noise followed by the hard thrumming grew to a nasty crescendo. Once again, the doors to the Great Hall burst open and in stepped tall, muscular males who wearing dark brown fur robes and hates. Their masculine features were encased with indiscreet emotion, as if they were trained not to show anything that may give away to what lied underneath their hard exterior. Long wooden sticks kissed the ground, sending sparks to fly from their tips and around their feet. They marched forward in hurried declaration, none of them paying no mind to the students that watched them as several of them came up, rotated their bodies and fell suit to incredible feats of endearment. Hermione watched breathless as one of the students blew fire from his wand, setting the remaining butterflies to flare up and wither in a downpour of sparkling light. She hardly noticed the Hall's unnatural disposition until she met dark brown eyes and a sneering face.

"Victor Krum," Ron whimpered stressfully.

Yes, it was indeed the infamous Quidditch player. His presence sent a wave of fire to ignite around the room. He was the topic among the students and her friends.

"Did you see him" asked Ginny some time later as they made their way out of the Hall and into the grounded corridor.

Hermione shook her head, secured her satchel more firmly on her shoulder. "Of course I saw him, Gin. What's your point?"

"He was looking at you." she whispered softly. "Like intensely. I wonder why, though?"

"He's always like that," Hermione sighed, not wanting to discuss Malfoy this late in the night. "Let it go, okay? Let's just go to the dormitory and go to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Ginny didn't say anything to the girl as she followed her up the staircase and to their tower. The Princess found her room and went quietly to bed. What she didn't know was that Malfoy was indeed watching her; there was no doubt about that, but she had captured the interest of another man and that was Victor Krum.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm writing this because of a recent review that I received from a guest who stated that my overuse of poetic terms may cause readers to become bored and drop the work entirely. I must say that I find this quite hilarious, and not because of what he/she said, but simply for the fact that they are only a guest and they have nothing to show me. As far as I know, they don't write. Y'all have no idea how much time I sacrifice each week to give publish these chapters. I go to school full time from Monday from 8:00 A.M to 5:00 P.M. It may not seem like a whole lot of time for y'all, but I haven't accounted for the time I put into studying, which is about an hour to two hours a DAY, making sure my home life is in order, working out, taking care of my sister, my family, my pets. It all adds up. Not to mention the issues that I already face on a daily basis- I do not have the time to deal with more shit than I'm already handling.

Which brings me back to my main point: I do appreciate his/her review. I may overuse poetic terms in my fics, and I may be more suited for poetry, but I cannot change that. Some people quite like it, I've learned. They like my writing style. I can write less of it if it'll make people happy, but I will not change myself just to satisfy a couple of people. Sorry, not sorry. I've done that shit before. I'm not doing it again. If you _do not like my work_ , _**do not read it.**_ Simple. As. That.

Seriously.

If I have to say it one more time I might just explode. I'm sick of it.

I don't mean to be ungrateful, but some people act like it's that hard to close the window and find something else to occupy their time. -_-. I invest way too much in my works to even give a shit. If anything, a few seconds to a minute before I realize that I just don't care.

I'm completely grateful for all my reviews, followers, favorites across all my works. You make staying up late/waking up early just to write worth it in the end. To have one person say they don't like it, oh well. I do aim to please, but I just can't please everyone.

 **A/N #2:** I wanted this to be a simple chapter, which worked out wonderfully. I wanted a relationship between Draco and Hermione so breaking that trust and working to rebuild it comes easier later down the line. I won't focus too much on the fourth book, though it is my favorite along with the sixth ^-^. It simply became the platform in which this narrative will take flight from.

Yours truly,

Carolare Scarletus.


	4. Provocare

**A/N down below**

As always, enjoy.

* * *

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

 **Encomium Ombre**

Chapter Three

 **Provocare**

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

* * *

.¸¸.

O, be sworn by the heart

When the voice of her calls to thee.

Thou art captured by the perilous siren

In which that she wished to provoke.

.¸¸.

* * *

 **Friday September 2** **nd,** **1994**

The air was heavy with slow, groggy unease. As the light of the moon came filtering into her dark chambers, her eyes fluttered open and all hopes of a good night's sleep was lost. Like most of the school, sleep did not come as easily as Hermione would have thought. Several times she had woken to strange scrapping noise. She would sit up, expecting her dear cat to be toying with something he found while patrolling the dormitory only to find that the chambers that she shared with four other girls completely bear and unwelcoming to trespassers. Everything was just as they had left it before they had fallen asleep.

Hermione couldn't understand why this was happening to her. Of all nights, she would have imagined she would be able to get some sleep before classes started up again. With what happened at the World Cup and her own personal issues, she came to the realization that sleep was her adversary this night and that the potions she had been given were her only allies.

She crawled out of bed, catching herself on the curtain of her four-poster bed. Her legs felt like extra weight that dragged her down as did her arms. She felt lifeless, really. While she struggled not to make any noise as she rummaged through her belongings, Crookshanks came out from his hiding spot and began to nuzzle her chest.

Hissing, Hermione shooed him away. The last thing she wanted was a reminder of what she could not get rid of or cure. For now, all she had was the potions and she was finding even the menial task tedious and draining.

Quiet sobs escaped her. As painful as these palpitations were, it was the thought of not finding out what was wrong with her that scared her the most. Perhaps Harry had been right to be worried about her. That she should look after herself better. Stop being so selfish and find the time to treat herself. Had it been all those late nights studying that caused this to occur? No, impossible. It's been happening since she was a child, so why now of all times was it becoming a problem for her? Back before she came to Hogwarts, these little episodes were a rarity. Now, they occurred almost on a tortured schedule. Tonight, it was the worse it has ever been.

"No, please," she cried to the wind. The desperate tone of her voice had been carried away to more futile pleas. There was no appeasing the wrenched deity that deemed it amusing to toy with her. Whoever it was, she continued to assault their ears with her rendering cries but it was to no avail.

It felt like her entire heart was being ripped from its comfortable position inside her chest. With every torn fiber, ripped muscle and cartilage, it stole a tear and heart wrenching sob from her. Her hand gripped her shirt, her nails clawing at her chest until it left angry streaks of red. Beads of her blood lingered upon her pale, delicate skin. It was moments like these that make whatever was happening to her so unbearable, that make the suffering so painful that she wished-

Almost as if conjuring from the thought of just ending it all, the pain coming from her heart ceased. It was as if a hand had been physically lifted from her chest, immediately alleviating the pain that it was causing. Cold air circulated around her in a soothing dance; as the pain drifted away, Crookshanks began to nuzzle up against her demandingly. In her hands was a phial and with a second's decision, she drank the potion in two small gulps, smearing the substance from her lips as she casted a quick _Lumos_ to see which one she had unknowingly chosen.

Once she did, she found that sleep had not been an ally at all. She just had to discover that on her own time.

"You don't look so good," Ginny muttered as she passed Hermione a steaming mug of coffee. A healthy amount of French vanilla creamer and sugar was added, an energy boost that she was certain she would need. The night was not kind to her, nor was the Sand Man.

"Don't remind me," she sighed, taking the mug and bringing it up to her lips. "Mail come yet?"

The red-haired witch shook her head. "Not yet. I suspect it'll be here soon, though."

Hermione lifted a hand and combed it through her unruly hair. It would have looked to any onlooker that she had wrestled successfully with her sheet for her hair had been ruffled up so badly that it truly did resemble the nest of an owl. She knew she was worse for wear; anyone in their right mind so early in the morning would agree that a much needed spell was more than called for. Murmuring softly, she pointed her wand towards the bushy nest and closed her eyes as her scalp began to tingle and the tall-tale signs of her hair being free of tangles and unkemptness. She tamed the wild beast, and felt eternally grateful for once for esthetic spells and charms. No wonder the girls in her year loved them so much!

She rubbed her eyes with her fingers and let out a chaste sigh. Even with the potions she was able to get from Madame Pomfrey and the aroma of the coffee, she just could not grab hold of reality. She was so unbelievably tired, so exhausted. Even though she had awoken just after one in the morning, it felt like she spent the entire night gravelling in her own self-pity. One potion after another, spell after spell, and charm after charm did she not find herself any closer to sanctuary or sleep. Having opted to stop trying sometime after five, she settled herself at the window and opened to the first page of a book that had called to her with a pleading voice.

Who would have thought any branch of Divination would be any sort of comfort for her?

No one would blame her if they discovered the horrid teachings of the stars and prophecies had abided her some companionship. Even now she couldn't believe the outcome. As the hours passed by, she found herself almost enthralled by the subject. If only a little. She would never admit that the hour or so that she spent trying to make herself fall asleep would open some sort of gateway within her closed soul. If only she paid any amount of respect for the subject last year. Maybe she would have believed more in the words that were offered to her.

As soon she realized her mistake, she threw the book across the room and silently cursed. Any deaf ears that opened up to her would be appalled what the Gryffindor Princess was holding inside. Even more so by her prudent tendencies for her gifted language was nothing more than a curse from not being able to sleep as well as she wanted. Why of all occasions?

She spent the last remaining hours of night in her tower, hoping and waiting for a prayer that would not be answered. As she did, something that she wished to forget had flashed its disgusting head. Nightmares were normal. But they have never been so real, so intense that it almost tore her into tiny pieces. She could not even give it a single thought; she would not begin the day reliving that horrid nightmare, or the tale that had taken her away from the horror that resided so discreetly against the prevailing darkness.

So many questions and so little answers. She was truly at a loss.

Ginny had already engaged the boys in conversation when she turned to address her. Pursing her lips, she scanned the table and found something that provoked more than the desperate pleas of her rumbling tummy.

Although far from famished, Hermione couldn't resist the sweet temptation of her favorite treat. As Ginny settled back in her seat, she reached over to the delectable red-skinned fruit. Covered in thorns and named after a mythical creature that actually existed, she found that the Dragon Fruit placed so strategically in front of her all too tempting. She plucked it from the basket and proceeded to open the thick, thorny skin. A creamy substance dotted with small specks of black greeted her and it took her last remaining strength not to make a mess of herself. Just as she was about to take her first bit, the owls came swooping in, disturbing the relative peace that surged through the Great Hall.

The girl's eyes rose at the sound of hundreds of beating wings and excited hoots. The entire Hall quieted immediately as letter after letter was disposed onto the table, into porridge and glasses of orange juice. As much as they were brilliant and magnificent, sometimes the early morning post was too much for them, having been disturbed just when sleep was finally able to call out to them. Hermione pitied and sympathized with them.

Students erupted into cheerful conversation. From all around, their excitement grew as they recounted their parent's letters in stunning detail to their peers. Everyone seemed to be heavy with anticipation. All except Hermione, of course.

"Still haven't received an answer from them?" Ginny asked, obviously not wanting to upset her friend.

She shook her head. "No, not that I'm expecting them to so soon." Hermione petted a nearby owl lovingly. "I just sent the letter two days ago. I hardly suspect Ron's owl will be able to deliver it and come back in one piece in just three or four days."

"I told you," she sung in a cheerful tune," you should have used Harry's."

"Harry," Hermione adopted a tone of chastisement," had already given Hedwig a letter to deliver. Need I remind you what he just found out? I wouldn't dare ask him to deliver one to my parents if he wasn't so invested with something entirely too important."

"Keeping in contact with your parents is important too, Hermione." Ginny said softly. "Besides, it's not like he would've said no if he wasn't already using Hedwig for his deliveries. Speaking of which, why did you send them a letter, anyway? Don't you usually call them?"

"Yes, well, I couldn't very well do that with your dad hanging around. Besides, I had a couple of things to ask them and I didn't want to risk anyone overhearing it…"

"But, you would risk someone going through your mail, hmm?" The red-haired girl waggled her eyebrows. "Well?"

"You know very well I'm smarter than that!" she laughed. "I didn't write anything that would draw suspicion, Gin."

"Well, at least you know to be careful." Ginny laughed. "Whoever Harry is writing to, I'm sure he had some sense to be careful what he writes."

The brown-haired girl smiled. It was moments like this that made it so difficult to talk to the younger girl. She didn't know about Sirius, or his relationship with Harry. It was best to keep it that way, however.

It grew suddenly silent. A silence that Hermione could easily read and it forewarned trouble. She was dreading this moment, the shift that would inevitably force her to speak about what she clearly wanted to keep hidden and to herself. Ginny obviously wanted to ask, so she allowed her.

"Is it about the World Cup?"

She nodded, though it wasn't the entire truth. Of course it was about the World Cup. How can anyone be brave enough to say that they weren't worried, that what happened there was nothing more than a prance in a field of flowers? What happened there was nothing more than a nightmare. Masked covered deities, colored smoke, explosions igniting all around; it would be foolish not to be afraid. "Yes. You know I'm worried about them."

"I don't know how you can be so calm, even after what happened." Ginny whispered.

"It's not about being calm," she reassured her friend. "It's about being brave for the people you want to protect."

"If that's what you're calling it," she said, shrugging. Ginny grabbed a piece of toast and bit into it. After swallowing the dry food, she turned and continued where she left off. "As much as the World Cup shook the Wizarding World, you can't let what happened there control you. I mean, as far as your parents are concerned."

"Sometimes I wonder…"

"About?"

Hermione shook her head. As much as she would like to pour her woes and heart to her friend, she couldn't let her insecurities about what happened at the World Cup and what was happening now with her health get in the way of enjoying the first day of classes. She had a whole day to look forward to, and to think that their visitors were just beginning to settle into life at Hogwarts was something to be thrilled about as well. As she let the conversation drift away into oblivion, her eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table to engage the new attendees.

The students from Durmstrang blended in remarkably well with that of Slytherin. If it weren't for the clothing differences, no one would be the wiser. Even with it, Hermione had a hard time figuring out who was her despite going to school with the same people for the majority of her Hogwarts career. The only constant, for now, was the Slytherin Prince.

Through the sea of green, she met the smoldering eyes of silvery grey.

"I can tell that something else is bothering you, Hermione." Ginny swirled her finger around the rim of her mug.

Hermione jumped and turned to find the red-haired girl staring knowingly at her.

"Whatever is going to happen, we'll be fine, alright?" she said despite the discouraging frown that did not escape Hermione's notice. It was in her eyes that she found some stability. It was there that she was able to let go of some of the worry. Not all, but enough that set her mind to ease.

"Of course." she murmured, her eyes trailing back to the Slytherin table.

Ginny caught her attempt and smiled slyly at her. "Checking out the new recruits?"

"No, I-"

"It's alright, you know." She giggled. "So long as your Prince doesn't find out."

"Oh, Ginny." Hermione shook her head, trying to vanquish the blush that threatened to rise to her cheeks. "It's nothing like that."

"Nothing like that," she mocked with feigned resentment. "I saw the way you were looking at him, 'Mione. You were just as captivated as the rest of us were. More so if you allowed yourself to be honest."

She scoffed. Hermione dismissed her friend's futile attempt to rile her up. She was too tired to even give he the light of day, much less berate her for being a complete idiot. She laughed nonetheless.

"I was not captivated!" she shrieked through clenched teeth. "And I would suggest you keep your voice down. Gods knows who may be listening."

"Who might that be, Hermione?"

The girls collectively gasped, turning to find none other than Draco standing behind them with his hands in his trouser pockets, his eyes flickering between the two. Hermione blushed as Ginny tried to reconcile the seemingly calm Prince.

"Why, hello there, Malfoy." She tried her usual cheerful tone, hoping it would work.

Draco's head turned slowly toward the red-haired girl, his eyes resounding the acute animosity he had toward the girl. They have never been as close to each other as they were with Hermione. After four years, she finally gave up the idea of forming some inkling of a friendship between the two. That could easily be said with the boys, as well.

"Minerva." He nodded to her before his attention tuned back to Hermione. "Well?" he drawled, bored.

"Nothing," she mumbled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The Hall was just beginning to clear out, seeing that the bell for first lesson would soon sound. She suddenly had the urge to leave. "We were just talking."

"About?"

She bit her lip.

He smiled.

"Do not be afraid," he placed a hand on her arm and brought her out of her reverie. "Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Hermione could see Ginny's resolve physically snap as her eyes lit up with mischief. There was a small glint in her eye that had never been there before, and before she could even mouth the words, her friend had blurted the last thing she wanted Draco to hear.

"Durmstrang." Confessed the girl. "We were talking about Durmstrang."

The Muggleborn snapped her head and glared at the girl. How dare she even speak? Didn't she know how much trouble she would get into? Of course not. She didn't care in the slightest. She always found amusement in her struggles, even if they included Draco.

"Oh?" He quirked a lovely light eyebrow and looked down at the girl beside him. "is that so?"

Ginny nodded reverently. "Mhmm. She fancies one of them, you know." She let out a small giggle. "You'll have to ask who, though. I've got to go. See you at lunch, 'Mione!"

With that, Ginny stood, grabbed her satchel and scurried down the aisle of tables and away from Draco's relatively poised composure.

He just stood there in silence, watching the retreating form of her friend as she weaved her way through the crowd and joined the sea of color.

Hermione didn't dare to speak. Instead, she stood and gathered her belongings. Her first class was quite a distance away, and if she didn't leave now she wouldn't make it to class on time. Just as she was about to grab her favorite piece of literature, Draco's hand caught hers and she met his gaze.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked in a low, dreadful tone. One that meant more than she could ever imagine.

"Class." She breathed, exasperated. "Something you should be inclined to consider, Draco. You are in your last year and should be focusing on your studies."

He chuckled, his hand releasing its hold on her arm. She gently gasped when the tips of his fingers rose to brush against her cheek.

"No need to remind me, Hermione."

"It's true." She laughed, loving that he wasn't deterred by what Ginny had said. The feeling of triumph was lost with his next words.

"We need to talk.

She was nervous.

Did he really believe what Ginny said? If not, then why did he feel the need to discuss some obvious joke? Surely, he wasn't as disturbed by it as he was leading her to believe.

"I-if this is about what Ginny said, then I-"

"Stop stammering, Granger." His voice was gentle, almost condemning in a way that made her feel worse than she already felt. The tone was playful, yet serious. "I know Ginger was only joking. Sometimes I wonder if you are the one who is unable to handle a joke."

Hermione looked up at him, words failing her for the first time.

Draco motioned to move but she didn't follow suit. He let out a sigh of perfect patience, turned and answered the longing the shined within her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," he smiled, something playing mischievously in his eyes. "Like I said, I know it was a joke. Relax."

Hermione let out a lengthy groan, which was lamented by her unease and unreasonable need to think the worst of herself.

"Better?"

She nodded.

"Perfect," he smiled once again. "Now, may I have a word with you or not?"

"Don't you have to go to class?"

Draco stared at her for a second. "I am aware of the time, Hermione. Though, as Head Boy I hardly think that my absence from class would cause for alarm. You, on the other hand, may warrant a search party if I don't escort you to class on time."

"You attend to escort me?" she felt a bit blessed by this realization.

He sighed. "Yes, Granger. Now shall we go? Or do I have to escort you by force?"

Hermione didn't hesitate or care to comment as he held out his elbow for her. She placed a delicate hand there and they departed from the Great Hall. The eyes of the envied followed them as they departed.

They walked until sound was nothing but a playful notion to them, where raillery was encouraged, and their voices echoed through the exchanged whispers of their hearts. Although far from the elaborate gates of their own little imaginations, Hermione found herself placed in the most peaceful of scenes. She always felt so tranquil with him. Like he could never do wrong, and that he was the only remedy to her long suffering heartache. As Draco lead her through the corridors and up to his selected reclusion, she turned her head towards him and she fall completely.

"How are things?" he asked suddenly out of the blue.

Hermione caught his penetrating gaze and licked her lips. She felt suddenly parched. She took cautioned steps, trying to keep up with his long strides.

Surely he didn't request her company just to take about that? It was just yesterday that he came to her with the idea of helping her. Even if only a little, she had accepted the kind offer. The thought was jarring and caused a slight tinge to blossom across her face.

She was out of the potions! Such tiny little phials, and they were only temporary remedies to her healthy issues, mind her. She couldn't be so selfish to ask for more.

"I take it that you have ran out." He used her infamous line from earlier and couldn't help laugh loudly in the wake of her frown.

"It isn't funny." She mumbled.

"Of course it is." He chuckled. "Do you remember what I told you about them?"

"That they are only in their experimental stages?"

Draco didn't indicate whether she was right or wrong. Instead, he whisked her away from the main hall and into an adjacent corridor where their voices would not be heard and she could not escape.

Perhaps it was then that she discovered what he so desperately wanted to discuss. As she picked the hem of her robes, her face burning with embarrassment, she felt his heavy gaze settle down upon her. She felt like she was in front of one of her teachers from primary school. Even then, she was afraid of what had been the unknown. She didn't know what to call her outbursts, and she wasn't taking about the spurts of magic that managed to slip here and there. She was talking about her episodes.

"Have they gotten better?"

"More or less." She murmured truthfully. "Though…"

"Yes?"

She shook her head.

Would he even want to hear about what happened last night? Would he even sympathize with her? All the years that she's known him, he has never rejected her in any way, shape, or form, so why on earth would he start now? He was a perfect gentleman, a great friend, listener, and everything else that could ever come from the friendship that had formed between them. Draco was by no means like other men she knew; he was strong, dark, and sinister. Although she has only seen the good side of him, she has borne witness to the darker side that he has been hiding her since the day he came into existence through fate's chanced meeting.

"You cannot hide anything from me, Hermione." He said, as if seeing what she saw, felt what she had felt, cried as she had cried. It was a very haunting think to have him peel away at her mind and probe wherever he wished. He was never evasive. Never brutal. Gentle was the word she would use. But never abusive. It wasn't the first time he used Legilimency on her. She was not as skillful in the art of closing her mind.

"Have you been suffering alone?"

She shook her head, allowing the tears to fall despite her strong stance she couldn't controlled the onslaught of emotion brought by last night and the damned disease. It has taken over her very life; she found even the basic of necessities a struggle, and she couldn't confine in anyone but herself. Sobbing almost to deaf ears, Hermione buried her face in her hands and let her heart pour out from the very weakened chest that encased it.

"Hermione," his voice called to her.

She did not listen.

"Hermione, look at me."

Again, she did not move. She couldn't move, couldn't face him now that he's seen her breaking. How could she? How could she see her so lost and so broken? She would rather die than let him see.

"Do not dare think those words." He growled.

With a gasp, her eyes shot open to the feel of his fingers gripping her upper arms. The Muggleborn stared into his stormy grey eyes, frightened by what she was able to provoke.

"Then what do you wish for me to think, Draco?" she whispered.

"I shall show you." He pressed his lips to her cheek and let out a heavy sigh. "If you will allow me."

"Anything." There was a promise held in the way she spoke the word. "Anything for you."

"You have no idea how incredibly precious you are to me," he murmured against her cheek. "Do you?"

She shook her head, her senses calming down. It was one of those unnatural phenomenon that only occurred whenever she was near him.

"I should be the one to show you that as well." Draco tailored to his inner thoughts. "There is something I wish to show you first." His voice was laced with nothing but the adoration of four years of friendship could only fulfill.

"And, what do you wish to show me, Draco?" She quirked an eyebrow. When he answered her with a playful smile, she said, "So like a child you are." Hermione proceeded to dry her tears. Speaking of that, how childish for her to cry in front of a grown man! "Sometimes I wonder if you are being honest with your age…"

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, turning ever so slowly to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes were wide, glimmering in the early sunlight. What was he so curious and frightened about?

"I must ask you…" he began slowly, unsure. "What do you see during these episodes?"

It was then that the dark calling came back to her like a frightful blare of glowing light and slithering exchanges. There, as she stood rooted to the floor, she began to recollect the previous night of events.

"Awful things," she admitted, wanting nothing more than to stop from discussing it any further.

"Have you spoken to Snape at all since the end of last term?"

"No," she bit out. Considering the awful way that the year ended, she didn't believe that he would even want to see the three of them after what they had done. Not many thirteen-year-olds can say they've fought off a giant tree, deceived several professors, and helped an ex-convict escape. What a fascinating story she could tell her children someday if she chose to have them. "I'm sure that you're more than aware of what happened last term. I'm probably the last person he would want to speak to."

"That may be true," he looked at her," but, I need you to set aside your differences and quarrels with him-"

"There is no quarrels!" she snapped. "Maybe if he had the nerve to try to be kind to us-"

"Hermione," this time she could tell that he was agitated," please. For me? Can you please be polite to him for me?"

"I am not speaking to him, Draco. I don't wish for him to become involved with my issues. I can hardly stand having you involved when you haven't done a single thing to deserve it."

"You feel like a burden." He deadpanned. "I can assure you that you are not a burden to me. I am very much interested in your welfare."

"Why, though?" she stressed. "Why is it so important that I go see him, that I seek help?"

"Do you wish to suffer for the rest of your days?"

This seemed to shut her up quickly.

"I do not wish to fight you on this, Hermione. I simply wish to assist you." He brought his hand to her cheek. His fingers stroked the soft skin delicately, easing her instantly from the hold of her anxiety. "I wish to see you well again."

She could feel her heart thumping wildly inside her chest as she watched him turn fully around. He lifted a pale hand, and tucked a lost strand of hair behind her ear. It lingered there, skimming her ear softly, tracing the curve of her cheek and jaw before skimming her bottom lip. She let out a shuttering gasp, anticipation boiling inside her veins.

If he was going to… no, he wouldn't! What sort of gift was that? No matter how much she wished he would, she could never be selfish to-

During her inner ramblings, something soft brushed against her lips and she felt every nerve in her body cease up. She didn't welcome the pair of lips immediately, much to her surprise and the owner's dismay. With several well practiced brushes, she was able to open her mouth and fully welcome him, gasping as his tongue slipped into her mouth and began a tantalizing dance with hers. One tentative, childish kiss turned into another and then another until their lips were locked, barely moving away and colliding together once more. Strong hands gripped her hips, pushing her up against the glass panel behind her. She felt the cold touches of the window as well as the escalating blush that rose to her cheeks and down to her core. Whilst Draco's tongue explored her mouth, marking it over and over again with his enrichened nectar, she soared to the heavens. His kisses were sweet, so delectable and mouthwatering. She couldn't get enough.

Her hands combed through his gorgeous locks, pulling at the almost silver blonde hair as their kiss deepened with depth and passion. She could feel his hard body press deeper into her, causing her to hitch her breath when he lips left hers to seek out the juncture of her neck and shoulder. His lips kissed her there, licking and marking her Each pull and brush brought them both higher and higher. Soon, their breaths were mingling together as one and they had no choice but to separate.

"Gods," his lips left hers in an instant and he placed his forehead against hers. "Why do you make it so fucking hard?"

Hermione whimpered at the sudden lost. Through the haze, she found the reason why he had taken her from the Great Hall and through the winding corridors of the school.

He was finding an escape, a reason to get her alone. If his glowering eyes and the snarky twist of his lips didn't indicate his anger, it was the soundless promise that they held that surely did.

Touching her lips, gasping quietly at the tingling sensation brought by the kiss, she looked up at him through long lashes, expectedly.

Draco's finger brushed against her cheek as he leaned in and took her lips again. This time, there was no room for error, for force. She had read the meaning of the first one and didn't need a reminder of the what the Silvered man could do. All too invitingly, she brought her hands to his shoulders, drawing herself to his level. He growled appreciatively. His hands came to rest on her hips.

"I- I take it that you're upset."

"No shit," he snarled.

"Y-you said you weren't mad!" She pushed at him with her small hands but it did nothing to make him move. In fact, he found it all the more empowering to decrease the amount of space left between their bodies by forcing his against hers, effectively pinning her to the glass. Draco narrowed his eyes on her, daring her to speak. "Y-you said that you didn't believe what Ginny said!"

Something audibly loud broke behind her. It was like the sound of breaking glass. As she listened, a strange sensation came over her, only heightened by the fact that Draco's hand was now bleeding, having punched it against the window. Hermione gasped, turning to face the Slytherin before he tried to harm himself again.

"I am seething." He punctuated the words very slowly and clearly for her. "It doesn't have anything to do with what Ginger said. I care not if you have some girlish fascination with some idiotic boy, Hermione, but you will not make a fool out of me."

"Who said I did?" She narrowed her eyes. He may have undoubtedly stolen a kiss or two from her, but he was not going to steal her righteousness. She would not be pushed around by him. "Even if I did, you never cared about it before. Who I like or dislike does not concern you, Malfoy, nor has it ever!"

"Do not," he pushed her further against the glass, his voice shaking as he spoke," speak to me like that. I have every right to tell you how I feel."

"You have an astounding way of showing it!"

Draco froze, as did Hermione. But not out of the pure rage that glossed his eyes and forced him to become immobile.

"Showing it?" he pondered. "Have you really been so blind as not to see it?"

"I have seen nothing."

Time was hauntingly beautiful. It stretched like a fine line of rope before them. They gazed into each other's eyes, hurt by what the other had said and the actions that lead to such division between them. Fire danced blazingly about them, having caught them in its little ring of damnation.

"You want to know why it is not befitting of a man to show his feelings, Hermione?" Draco asked after quite some time. His voice was broken, detached. His eyes didn't even meet hers as he pushed himself off her, taking several steps back and watching her only from the corner of his eye. He looked so crestfallen, so destroyed. She felt a sting of hopeless pity befall her; how could she have been so cruel? Not to even to take his feelings into consideration. Not that he ever gave her the time of day. When he had so many beautiful witches crawling at his feet, why would he even bother with her? Even when they first met, she never really paid attention to the way he looked at her. It was the same look he was giving her now.

Draco stepped closer to her, his eyes never wavering once from the petrified looked that captured her features.

"I shall show you."

With that, he brought her hands to his head and they whirled out of the corridor and plummeted straight down into his inner turmoil.

And what a fool she was for not noticing it sooner.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hello! I'm sure y'all have been wondering where I have been, and to be quite honest, I have no fucking clue. I just finished my last semester. I'll be going back on August 15. In the meantime, I hope to publish several chapters. I'll be publishing several times a day (I hope.) I do have a surprise for y'all ;) Look at for that! I am going back and editing Paint me Green and Taste of Champagne, just so y'all know.

On a lighter note- I want to give my girl a shout out! AKxx has been working super duper hard on her fics. Without her, I wouldn't be as emotionally stable. (This semester was fucking tough. It was a 10 week semester and I was seriously doubting myself!). I beta for her. .. Though, knowing her as I do, she tends to take that privilege away from me. =P No worries, girl. I will get you back somehow! :D

Anyway, this chapter is completely unedited. I'll posted an edited version tomorrow. I'm just super tired and the weird weather isn't helping. We normally don't get rain here ..

Forgive me! D:

^-^ All I can say is I am so terribly sorry and hope that y'all don't attack me with pitchforks. :)

With that said, byeeee!

-Carolare Scarletus (Totally had a blonde moment, haha cD)


	5. Videre

**A/N down below**

As always, enjoy

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·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

 **Encomium Ombre**

Chapter Four

Videre

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

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.¸¸.

At first the sullen glance

Offered by the golden light

His gaze found hers for all to see

O, how he has found thee.

.¸¸.

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 **Sunday September 1, 1991**

 _Draco drummed his fingers impatiently against the wooden table. His chalice was filled with the elixir of a drunken ward, and he was beginning to think there had been a conspiracy to test his patience._ He sat like a king on his throne in the middle of the Slytherin's table, his eyes gathered around the Great Hall and absorbing as much as his perceived eyes could take of the decoration and spirit. The Sorting Ceremony, one of the most traditional revenues of a thousand years had yet to start. The first years were late. His eyes darted to the two large wooden doors on the other side of the room. Every now and then his curiosity would get the better of him. Something stood on the other side of those doors and it was beginning to get on his last nerve. Like an uncooperative orb, it swished back and forth tauntingly and if the damn sorting didn't start soon, he was going to stand and go over to see what it was himself.

"Control yourself." Theodore said on his left. A burst of concealed magic shot out of nowhere and began raining down upon him and his most trusted acquaintances. "You must not let whatever stands behind those doors break you."

"You cannot feel what I am feeling, Nott." growled the Prince. Although in his human form, his newly acquainted friends knew nothing about his true identity. They were not aware of _who_ he was, what he represented but that did not mean that they were completely oblivious to his ailments. He has physically tortured since boarding the Express and it has not died down in the slightest. In fact, it seemed to be growing. The outbursts would only become more powerful and more destructive. "I suggest you shut the fuck up before I do it for you."

Blaise, whom had reminded silent throughout their conversation and even through the rigorously long commute to the castle had finally broke his silence.

"He is right, Draco." his voice as smooth as velvet. Blaise picked up his chalice and took a lost drawl of the substance before placing it down on the table. He hoped that his words would be enough to sooth him. "He must not give into this reckless desire."

"It is not reckless desire."

"Alright," mused the Italian," it is not. It is reckless irritation. Why are you in such a prissy mood? You are usually not this interested in the sorting, so what gives?"

Draco looked at him then looked back at the doors. "There is something there."

"As we have established, yes." drawled Blaise. "Care to enlighten us? I can hear the thrumming of your non-existent heart from here. It is very disturbing."

"I do not know."

"You must," pressed Theo," otherwise, you would not be acting like this."

"Who are you to say you know anything about what is happening to me?" hissed Draco.

In all his years as being a human, having placed his soul into a living baby and passing him onto the next life, he has never met anyone so difficult or outlandish. He was careful who he befriended; he did not want anyone to get too close, too personal with him. He still found their presence slightly unnerving, but nonetheless entertaining. They both hailed from noble families and were a constant irritation as a good support system to him. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would actually enjoy being among the living, much less these two that his vessel befriended. They were quite interesting, but still quite scared of him. Enjoy was a sinuously strong word, however. Too personal for his liking.

Draco adjusted himself in his seat. The Pureblood woman at his side clung onto him like a wild banshee. Her dark tresses tickled sickeningly against his cheek, her arms coming to encircle his waist. It was a sign. She was sexual deviant set on sin. As annoying as she was, and as easy as a fuck as she was, his heart and mind has always been elsewhere. And it stood just behind those doors.

Somewhere behind those the walls of this prison was his beating flesh. He has been searching for thousands of years, marking each decade with more despair and heartache. *It was just this lifetime that he chose to act differently, and what a choice it was. He never thought he would be this close to his prize; all he had to do was wait.

"I do wonder what sort of snakes will find their way into our pit." murmured the Nott heir.

"Are you up for a little bet?" asked Blaise.

"The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin!" shouted a distant voice.

Draco's cold eyes drifted between the two and he was almost tempted to place bet himself when an announcement of the arrival of the first years echoed throughout the Hall.

At once the double doors of the Great Hall shot open and the frightened faced of the first years came into very. Their tiny bodies bustled in, each rigid with nervousness and regretful agony.

 _Cheer up, little ones_ , he couldn't help think. _This is supposed to be a joyful occasion, or so I have gathered. It is not every day a child is taken and sorted into their rightful House._

It was upon their agony that some of the tension that they were facing was lifted, gracious of the blackened heart of the demon. He was feeling rather kind. They were able to smile more freely, walk with more poise. It was with his encouragement as well as those around them that let them walk down between the aisles of the tables more proudly.

 _Oh, yes._ He looked at the small faces more languidly. _That is much better._

Draco's eyes kept their malice. He had yet to pinpoint the exact soul that had captured his attention. He had thrown away the little connection and was just about to forfeit his attention as well when his eyes landed on the most intriguing of specimens.

A small girl pulled away from the line as the first years separated and formed a circle around the head of the Gryffindor House. The girl had overly curly hair, light beige skin and an aptitude for knowledge. As he watched her, he found that her stature was most amusing. She couldn't be any taller than a common table. Though, in his demonic form and now, there was no difference between height since he towered above all his domain. It was a little quirk that he very much like but that wasn't why he found sudden interest in the girl. It was the glow of her soul and the sudden beating of his heart.

First, he thought of it a figment of his imagination but it soon became clear to him that nothing such as his heart could be pictured as false. His counterpart must have sense something was out of place for he turned and stared at him through the concerned mirror of his eyes.

"What is it?"

"That girl," he murmured finally. "I sense something in that girl."

"Could it be?"

Draco nodded, brow furrowing in worry and anguish. A harsh pain shot through his chest and he balled up his hands in an attempt to disperse the pain. There was no mistaking what he felt; it was the beat of his heart after ten thousand years that forced him to wonder if it was real. Could he have finally found her after all this time? He willed her to look at him. He wanted her to at least look at him and then he would know.

 _Look at me_.

He projected a great deal of magic to the girl. When she did not look the first time he tried again, this time his eyes churning the color of molten steel. A low growl issued from his lips as he watched the girl become possessed by his magic. Her auburn eyes glowed brilliantly as it indicated that she was embellished by whatever she believed was just a soothing touch to her nerves. She did look around excitedly and when her eyes finally found their way to his Draco had to break the connection prematurely to keep him from completely submitting to her gaze.

At first, he noticed the uncanny shade of her eyes. They were auburn and they seemed to slip just below the hue of its designated complexity. Even from where he sat, he could make up the small freckles that kissed her skin and feel the pulse of her life. The blood that swam through her veins was warm and welcoming; the sadistic part of him wanted to sink his teeth into her neck and partake from her body. It felt like the entire world and the stars had collided. The room fell incredibly tight and devoid of oxygen. His chest tightened, his heart beat wildly inside the chasm of his chest as he tried to control himself. Their eyes were locked on one another and they fell together.

Oh, if the soul could speak freely what would it say? It was in the whirl of those beautiful auburn gardens that he had come to yearn for with each passing year. It seemed like yesterday he was observing the stars, waiting for her to come down and join him. He was as nervous and excited as any man would be to meet his lover; even now, he could not get over the intensity in which her eyes glow. They held such promise, and it was then that paved way to accepting something that he had come so close to giving up on. Then it had been taken from him. A premature break that had surely pressed against his immortal being and psyche in more ways than one.

He had finally reconnected with her. Never in his desires and destruction that he thought he was find her. But, he did. And that was all that matter.

He had found his heart, his soul. He wasn't going to lose her again.

"She is beautiful," Theodore said then his eyes narrowed. Draco felt the disturbance before he did and was almost tempted to resign from his position at the table and go out and help the girl. A physical break in his heart promised a foul realization.

Just as the girl was called up to the sit on the stool, her heart fluttered and she fell to the ground with a loud, resounding _'thump'._

It was as if his heart had been sewn back together and then a pause occurred where both pieces desperately tried to find rhythm once again.

* * *

Draco wrapped his arms more tightly against the unconscious girl. Pain stabbed his chest but he did not care. He had given her a vision, to which he hoped she would take more positively. He didn't know what he would do if she rejected him. After four years of knowing her, getting close to her, gaining her trust, being the shoulder she cried he damn well deserved to be her lover. No one else could have her. Not even the boy that she had mistakenly projected her feelings to.

He could hardly bear watching as she fell to the floor much as she had done now. In all honesty, there was no better way of showing her the extent of his feelings and the departure of rationality than the throes of his long forgotten memories. And there were many. He chose to show her that particular one for a reason. He wanted her to know of the first time he felt his heart beat and what he might for not only him but her as well. He stood there, breathing in her essence as the tide of his exposure washed over her vulnerable form. In his mind, he could see the extent of the damage that the scene had done. Somehow, she was learning. The clouds were finally open up for her. Soon, she would know everything and he stood helpless and open as to what her decision may be.

The prince embraced her deeply. Certain treachery awaited him if he let go and he was determined to hold onto her for all he was worth. He had finally captured her, spoke his visions and feelings through the use of the first encounter. It had been so hard to keep everything that lead up to this moment to himself; now, he was able to open and honest with her. He hoped against hope that she would accept him and accept what she saw as the absolute truth. He would never lie to her, of course. The childishly stubborn and scared part of him needed her solid acceptance and concrete proof of her devotion. Otherwise, everything he has done up to this point had all been for naught. He certainly didn't want that to happen.

"Do you see?" he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He stared at her lightly freckled face, resisting the urge to press his lips to hers. "Everything that I have done for you? I have waited thousands of years, remained patient and vigilant. When I saw you at the Sorting…"

Draco's voice broke before he rearranged it back into its usual dark and foreboding form. "…I thought the very fabric of the world had torn and the sky had shattered. You move me like nothing else does." He then leaned in and kissed her softly, whispering," I have done my waiting. Now, it is up to you to accept me."

A part of him believed that she would. The other did not. Still, he let her have that decision. Forcing her or making up her mind was not going to settle well with the witch. She had to do it on her own. A sudden unbalance caused him to break away from her. With trepidation, Draco moved his magic and sought out the disturbance. He found something completely unwelcoming.

"I know you are there," he called out, his eyes darkening. A glamour had been placed on them as not to scare Hermione. The last thing he needed at the beginning of their courtship all those years ago was for the first year to go straight to the library and research her little heart away. Quite literally, of course. Though, there would not have been much information to devour, he still found her inquisitiveness rather annoying. He had not been ready then, but he was sure as hell ready now. He would allow that pleasure. It would be pleasing to torment her with riddles and evasiveness. Getting a rise out of her was quite entertaining. He loved her spark of anger. "Show yourself."

A figure stepped out from the paved dark. He knew the man fairly well, but his motive was not welcomed.

Viktor Krum had been a thorn in his fucking ass even before he arrived to Hogwarts. Now that he knew Hermione had some little crush on him, he was determined to get rid of the worm before it was able to wiggle its way into the girl's life. His existence was laughable, even if his power was something to commend. Such boarding presence and he had no clue what to do with it. As intimidating as he wanted to come off, he was nothing more than a helpless child before him. His judgement would be a quick one, and so would his placement in Hell.

"What is your business with me?"

The Bulgarian remained silent. His eyes were drawn to the girl that lay in his arms. Hermione let out a shuttering breath, one that made his cock instantly harden to the sweet sensation of her breath as it tickled his neck. He let out a sigh of his own, but not from the sheer pleasure of finally having her in his arms. This sigh manifested itself by the horrible reaction that came from the boy standing in the shadows. As disturbing as it was, the images that swam in his mind was more disturbing. It was a cause for alarm, but Draco didn't let the insatiable appetite of the mortal overwhelm him. In fact, it was quite amusing. Krum was starving, scared even. He was about to see another side of him if he didn't leave soon.

Krum wanted her. He has seen the same look in many eyes, but never this strong and never towards the girl in his arms. Draco's life was immeasurable; he had seen it all. From the break of dawn to the darkest of days, he's seen people grow and conquer to the monarchs of kingdoms gain and lose favor. He's seen people fight over land, pillage and rape women, murder and abuse the innocent. These offenses were the result of a displaced world. Without the light, they did not have faith or even motivation to even see the harm that they were causing. Granted, he had been the one to teach them. Now, he didn't give a damn what they did so long as he sat on his throne and gave them the punishment they deserved. Even if he was just as guilty as they were, he was already living his he. Even he could not escape pain as a result of missing his other half. Love was no exception, and never was lust.

"I will not ask you again," Draco shifted Hermione so she was shielded by his gaze. He brought an arm around her shoulders and pressed her body into his, making a point that Krum remain where he was. If he wanted to live he would obey. "What business do you have?"

"I came to inform you."

"Of what exactly?"

Krum hesitated, shifting between his feet. Clearly, he didn't want to bring up something that Draco already knew. There had been little preparation for that. More than enough that could be said for the weakling that stood before him.

Draco tilted his head, shifted Hermione more comfortably in his arms. A precaution was made just in case he did show his true image; he did not want her waking up and being scarred by something that could have easily been prevented. His true form was incredibly deathly and the only time he would show a mortal that would be in the face of death. Only then would anyone pay witness to the extent of his power. Hermione would never see that side of him, however. He couldn't bear it if she did. Once immortal or not, his true image was not a beautiful sight, even if her being before her death had fallen in love with it.

"The mark," Krum said slowly, his accent thick," It is burning."

"I am aware."

He let the Bulgarian see his exposed sleeve. The small formation of a snake slithering in an eye socket of a skull was all that it took to break the resolve of the guest. Krum shook involuntarily; his eyes glossed over in fear and recognized debilitation. When he looked up, Draco's eyes narrowed and his grip on the girl in his arms tightened.

Oh, yes. He accounted to his fear.

"Vot does it mean?" his voice shook as he refused to look at the mark on Draco's arm. "Vhy is it burning?"

"It seems as our little friend has found a way to come back," he drawled, throwing away his fear for nothing more than some silly display. There really wasn't anything to be afraid of; Krum did not know what true fear was. No one did. "He plans to come back this year, yeah?"

"I do not-"

"Spit it out," he growled. "You may not have the mark or know what is going to happen but you will not stand there and lie."

"I-I don't-"

"I have been lied to before, Krum."

Draco was now standing right in front of him. A foul aroma engulfed them. Krum looked at him, daring not to eve glance at the girl that he held securely in his arms. The deathly glint in his eyes forbad it, and if he did, certain demise awaited. So he stood there, eyes locked to a singular spot in his otherwise unscathed face. The air was tight around them. Their boundaries were pushed to extreme limits as Draco invaded his mind, sorting through the memories, the cinematic visuals and sounds until he found exactly what he was looking for. Their Headmaster wasn't the dear old friend that Dumbledore made him out to be, that was for sure. Karkaroff had some demons of his own, and Krum's affiliation with the Headmaster only proved the point he wanted to make.

Neither knew absolutely nothing of the world. For someone who proclaimed to know every secret, ever detail and trade, Tom Riddle seemed to forget exactly who had shown him that power. If it were not for him, the poor fool would not be in his grave, caught between death and existing and crumbling away until nothing but dust remained. Draco has been waiting nearly thirteen years for the damn thing to die. Maybe he would do him a favor of coming back to life and getting himself killed by some other fool's hand.

What a sight that would be.

Granted, nothing of the human world encouraged him. In fact, nothing except for a few wonders made him even want to remain on earth except to roam the fields and refresh the waters so to speak. He has seen it all. He has seen so much destruction that maybe it is time to go back to his abode and retire. With his star, of course.

Mortals were imbeciles. He was done trying to accommodate them.

"Your eyes are so open." murmured the dark presence. "So open, so frightened. Tell me, boy. Are you in alliance with him?"

"N-no I am not."

"Splended," Draco smiled wickedly. He hoisted the sleeping girl into his arms, carrying her. The Prince moved back some, providing them both the much needed space they needed. "I can assure you those who follow the damn fool will no doubt find themselves in more commendable hands than that of their precious leader. Remember, boy. There is no greater evil than the one that you have yet to face."

He motioned to move but Draco did not seem to be done with him. In fact, there was a suddenly uncomfortable shift in the atmosphere that caused the Bulgarian to ground himself where he stood, fearing if he moved, he would be killed.

As Draco searched through his mind, he discovered the revolting truth of his obsession. So much filth in such a small little soul, he was going to have to make it very clear to him that Hermione was off limits.

"Do not think that what I saw went unnoticed." he hissed. Krum began to tremble, his knees became weak and a deafening shout pierced the otherwise vacant corridor. The windows shook with the intensity of his agony but the Prince did not flinch or relent. He had to learn that his place was on the ground. He served him and if he even thought about his star again in such a manner, he would face more than his worst fears. "I have seen your little daydreams and I am warning you now that if you even think about coming anywhere near her, I will rip off your fucking dick and shove it down your throat. I have spent an excessive amount of time trying to court her and I will not have some fucker like you ruin it for me."

Through the ride of his

Even before his speech, he had lifted a single hand and pressed to Hermione's ears. This way, she doesn't subconsciously remember what he said. As he pulled away from her, Draco took the liberty of placing a few well selected charms on her. No boy will come near her unless at a safe and appropriate distance. He wasn't stupid enough as not to allow some contact with others, but no one was going to touch what was rightfully his.

Krum nodded stiffly and Draco had no choice but to let him go.

* * *

" _I wish you had not done that," she mumbled dejectedly. "What if their woes were serious?"_

" _Then they should have gone to another Goddess, Mea." The Darkness said severely. "They know not to bother you when you are with me. This is our time. They know to go elsewhere when we are together."_

" _You are so selfish!" she pushed at him and walked away._

 _They were roaming the fields of earth in search of tranquility. After several weeks apart, they had finally secured some time to be together as one. Although their relationship was fairly new, it was the persistence of those around them that made it nearly impossible to enjoy each other's company. Darkness wanted her to feel safe, to have her to himself and feel the love and devotion that took them both so long to learn and obtain. But how was he supposed to do that when she was so easily snatched from him?_

" _Mea, please."_

" _Do not 'Mea' me, Darkness." she seethed. "I have had enough of your childish games!"_

 _Games? What games was she speaking of? Was it really so much to ask for a moment of her time? He had to make her see._

" _None of my advances have been games, Mea." he said darkly. "Why on Earth would you even think such a thing?"_

" _I-I," she bit her lip, frustrated._

" _See," he crooned," You cannot justify your anger even if it does swim in your veins like mighty rivers. You are just as upset with all these interruptions as I am. Admit it."_

" _Yes," tears fell from her eyes, skimming the curve of her cheek. He watched as one nestled in the corner of her lips. "I am upset."_

" _The great Light is upset?" he teased her mercilessly. "I cannot speculate as to why…"_

" _You know why!"_

 _The Darkness smirked at her outburst and grabbed for her. Mea collided into his body and she let out a shaking sigh, wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged him into her._

" _You are so splendid, my dear." He whispered. "I think that is why the others want to steal you away from me. You are quite the lady, and an invigorating read. You are simply divine."_

 _Mea blushed wildly, looked down and brought her hands to her breast. She had never been complimented in any way, and the fact that Darkness saw her in such a way was overwhelming. Although she was far from being young, it was her breathless beauty and intelligence that attracted him to her. Everything about her was a wonder. From her curly hair to her auburn eyes that shined like stars in the sky, he loved every bit of her being._

 _Darkness took a careful look at the girl. She wore such a stunning dress, something that was not thought any less than appropriate for a girl in her position. Her hair was flowing, and there was a small diamond encrusted adornment pinned to the crown of her hair. The evening glow of the sun illuminated her skin in such a lovely way that he could not help but reach out and embrace her from behind. She drove him absolutely insane. Everything about the Light was so alluring and enchanting. He could not help himself as he pressed his lips to her neck, feeling her gasp and shutter and the intimate touch. As new as their union was, they had yet to consummate it. He has been waiting quite a while, and it seemed as if they were both ready to be united in that way._

" _Mea," he breathed, brow furrowed as he fought to keep his composure. His hands ran up her sides and he bit his lips as they skimmed the curve of her covered breasts. She let a soft whimper, brought her arms so they encircled his neck. His hands fell to her hips and he nuzzled her neck. Her body felt so delicious pressed against the front of his. Every curve, valley and depth jumped to his touch. "Please tell me to stop."_

" _No," she sighed, closing her eyes._

" _Tell me to back up."_

" _No." Her voice was stern. "Accept this, Darkness. Accept me."_

" _I do accept you." He hissed, tightening his grip on her hips. "What I cannot accept is the control you hold over me." Darkness breathed in her magnificent scent and shuddered. "You make me think unspeakable things. I would submit myself to your mercy, woman. You are my only weakness."_

 _Darkness plunged his hands underneath her dress and groped her supple breasts. Mea arched her back splendidly as his fingers slide underneath and around her flesh. Her nipples puckered underneath his tedious attentions while his tongue licked and marked her necked. She bucked against him, moaned, and drew in desperate breaths. A tingling sensation ignited in her stomach and travelled straight down to her core. Shocked by the unknown feeling, Mea gasped and her eyebrows furrowed. She had no inkling as to what these sensations were, but she could not get enough of them. Darkness felt her dismay. He turned her around, drawing her close to his body and allowing her to feel his response to touching her body._

 _She gasped at the sheer size of his arousal._

" _Shall I show you what you do to me?" he growled, his eyes glowing hauntingly silver. "Stand to testify to your enchantment? Tell me, Goddess."_

 _Mea shook her head despite herself. She wanted him to show her, wanted him to lose control. "I do not hold anything above you, Darkness."_

" _You do," he growled, dragging the cloth of her dress to the side and kissing down her neck. "You are Ambrosia. Addictive. Exquisite." He licked her neck, suckling the skin behind her ear and drew his hands to her breasts._

 _The Goddess combed her fingers through his hair and opened up her body to him._

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh, sweet cliffhanger ;) You've got to love them!

I chose not to include the smut scene... just yet. You shall see it soon :D I plan on making chapter five fairly long, so hold onto your knickers .

I am so sorry for the prolonged wait. If y'all are following Let it Burn, I mentioned that I just started the new semester. (ugh). Don't get me started. I was trying to get a feel for it. I have 19 chapters to get through. 6 of which of the floor, that is the first half of the semester T.T

Nothing else to say. I practiced applying makeup on myself today with the makeup I bought on Thursday .. Fun, fun.

:D talk to you soon!  
byeee!

-Carolare Scarletus


	6. Placo

**A/N down below**

 _As always, enjoy._

* * *

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

 **Encomium Ombre**

Chapter Five

Placo

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* * *

.¸¸.

A call or a whisper

A night torn to whole

The Light found the Darkness

And the Darkness

Cannot escape the light

.¸¸.

* * *

The Light let out a trembling sigh as her lover's lips brushed against the column of her neck. She held him. Her small hands seemed even smaller in comparison to his large, broad chest. While his lips busied themselves with the sweetness of neck, his hands began to toy with the hem of her dress, his knuckles ticking her upper thighs until he reached the outline of her curvy waist. It was there she let out another highly anticipated breath. She was nothing more than a helpless muse to his touches. He could not get enough of her. Even if he tried, his hands could not seem to memorize the exact smoothness of her arms and thighs, the wonderful curve of her waist and hips, and even the swell of her breasts. As his hands slipped underneath her dress, her breaths came in rapid pants. The Light wanted him to touch her everywhere.

"You are beautiful, star," he murmured, his lips pressed to her neck. He pulled away slightly, a noticeable flicker playing in the depths of his eyes. "Every star is jealous of your spectacular shine. You make the Heavens sing the ground shake violently with just the sound of your voice. Your love and cherishing nature has given nourishment to the lands upon your breast. Without you, nothing would be as it is. You are life." Darkness tucked her more securely into his arms possessively. "And I must tell the whole world whom you belong to."

"Darkness, I-"

"Do not speak, precious." he whispered, his eyes glittering with untouched passion. "For you speak, I will not be able to listen, much less restrain myself. Do you feel it?" he pressed urgently into her body and she gasped at the mere size of his arousal. She dared not to look down. A blushing virgin, indeed.

"I am desperate for you." He pressed more urgently against her and groaned." All these years I have observed you, watched you, protected you. In all that time, I have unconsciously tried to destroy you. Why is that? How can something to brilliant be able to drive away my darkness without relinquishing its entire hold on the world? How can some small flame in the distance be enough to sway me? Tell me."

She looked at him with wonder filled eyes. She could feel the intensity of his emotions as it washed over her. It showered her like shootings stars until only their soft tails were left. Never in her existence has she seen or felt such strong emotion. She wanted more.

Mea could not answer such questions. She had no idea that she moved him so and wanted to know more about the experiences he had kept hidden all these millennia. Tilting her head up, she was able to see the extent of his devotion and longing. It was held within his majestically grey eyes. They glittered like diamonds as the bore into her, as if trying to pry the answers just by looking into her own eyes. For several minutes they stood like that, caught up in each other's embrace to care of what audience they could have provoked, or the sort of disturbance they could have inspired. It was just the two of them, and nothing else. As it has been for thousands of years.

"From the moment you were created, you have had be captured by your grace, your beauty. This is must be what all creatures feel like, no? The warmth of your smile, the strength of your giving energy, your boundless love? Is this what they feel when you humor them with your gaze. Tell me, Light, is it?" He brought his hands up to her soft cheeks, allowing his thumbs to caress the skin. His eyes stared into hers until he became a victim by plummeting into them. "What is it with you that I am able to breath, that I am able to live and not fear what I am capable of achieving. You gave everyone else life; is it safe to assume that you have given me life as well, even in the simplest of forms?"

Slowly, she let her head move side to side as to answer his many questions to her very being. It was true she had helped create, but she was not the one who had given him life since Darkness had been created before the notion of her was formed. She only hoped that he would accept her take on the play of their lives and sonnets of their love.

"I did not give you life."

His eyes suddenly darkened.

"If not you, then who?"

"You did not let me finish," she smiled softly, bringing her hands to rest on his unclothed chest. He held his breath for a moment then let it out. "I did not give you life. You found it."

Darkness considered this for a moment before looking at her in a new perspective. His eyes lost its haunting glow. They now looked at her like a hungry beast would look as its prey. And, Darkness was indeed hungry.

"That I did." He gently lowered his head and caught her lips in the sweetest of exchanges. "How you hold me so," he growled, encircling her waist with his hands. They reminded her of twin serpents as they move gracefully around her and pressed her sharply against his body. He was fully aroused and would only continue to be aroused until he was sedated with her passion and love. "And by the grace of the Gods I am going to show everyone how you truly shine and once I do, no one will be able to claim you as theirs. I will have possessed every ounce of you, every succulent inch. You will be my one and only star."

He sealed the promise with undying kiss.

With a sudden squeal, she opened her mouth to his evasion. His tongue flicked behind her teeth and grazed her tongue expertly until it appeared that she was consorting with him the way he wanted. Drawing away slightly, he gazed down upon her. Her were heavy with lust, her eyes shining brighter than before. He wanted to take her, but first, he wanted to see the skin to which he had been consumed by raw desire.

He lifted her dress again and his eyes casted down on her like the light to which she shine. Without breaking the contact, he consumed her.

* * *

She could feel someone's lips on hers. She lied in an uncomfortable mattress with a scratchy duvet drawn over her body. Everything screamed for mercy as she brought her hands to her lover's cheeks, forcing her tongue between their teeth and dominating their tongue. Little gasps and sighed honored her soft strokes and gentle entrance. It seemed to her that they had been waiting just as long as she was to be intimate and now that they finally were, they were not going to stop until they have had their fill.

"Wake up, Mea."

 _No_ , she thought despite herself. _I don't want to wake up._

"You must wake up." The voice said soothingly. "Wake up.

 _No!_

She liked the way the lips travelled to her throat and the sweet, tormenting ache between her thighs. If it wasn't for the physical ache of having been thrown out of consciousness, she would indulge it. For now, she wished for the voice to leave her to her peaceful dreams.

Her lover obliged, only rendering his ugly head down the dream road. He only let her taste the scoring heat of her lover's lips and hands as they slide and maneuver against her throat and body. His hands slipped her dress up until her bare breasts were exposed. Her lightly colored nipples puckered to the slight wind and his head instantly bent and locked onto one like a starving animal. He swirled his tongue around the flesh until it became hard and pointed, aching. She was gasping heavily all the while. With trembling fingers, she combed them through his hair and pressed him into her breast as he switched to the other breast, paying the same amount of careful attention to the nipple.

His fingers pressed under her breasts while his tongue found a single dance that fed from her delicious gasps and shudders. He helped her down to the ground in which they stood, never breaking contact. His lips slid down her sternum and stomach until they reached her apex. There, he pressed his hands against her thighs, pushed them apart, his eyes stealing the first glance of her sex.

Her flesh was rip and pink. The folds glistened with her sweetened nectar. His mouth water while his eyes darkened, his lust coming forward. He lowered his dominant hand and ran a single digit up the length of her slit, collecting her essence before swirling it around her swollen nub. She arched into him and shook, not expecting such a strong sensation to run the course of her body. His star let out a heavy, pleading breath. Looking up, she pleaded with those amber eyes for him not to stop. He obliged. After all, her nectar was only meant for him and him alone.

"Lay back," he ordered her. His Light's hands ran up and down his arms and he had to stop her from pursuing something that he knew she would not be prepared for. Teasing was not his forte; he would not tolerate another moment of it for as long as they remained together. He would get what he wanted, or he would take it by force. "Listen to me, Mea. Lay back and I will stop this madness that you feel."

Panting heavily, she did as she was told. She looked up at him as he slowly stripped himself of his clothing. First to go was his armor. The heavy metal fell from his left arm and chest, hitting the ground with a resounding 'thud'. His sandals and finally his tunic were torn from his body, leaving him to stand before her in all his glory. Her eyes roamed over his smoldering body from his blonde hair that fell over his eyes and shoulders, to his musculature of his chest, arms, thighs and legs. Finally, her eyes fell upon his manhood. They grew wide and she bit her bottom lip in exchange from voicing just how susceptible she was to him. He was a true Adonis. Every inch of him screamed glory and passion. If this was what would touch and caress her for all the owner was worth, then she was a willing girl to give him the pleasure. Her exhale came out shaking.

"Gaze upon me, my Light." His grey eyes burned with the intensity of his love and lust. He was on the verge of falling apart just be the way she was gazing up at him. "All that is me, I am binding myself to you, Goddess. I vow to protect, to cherish, to love you like a man should. You are mine."

A shadow of magic swirled around them and in a moment's grief, it began to collect around him, marking that he had taken an oath that could never be revoked. The fact that he did not seem the least bit worried about what he had done struck her hard. Her eyes swelled with tears and she reached out, bringing him to rain down upon her like a shower as she pressed her lips to his.

His arms came to wrap themselves around her waist once again. With all her strength she pulled him down and he slithered sensuously against her body. Her legs opened up cradled his hips. A string of gasps tore between them at the first contact of their bodies. They stayed that way for a moment, their eyes tearing into one another's. Neither spoke and only their mingled breaths coursed the night air.

"Your skin feels so good, my Light," he breathed, looking her in the eyes. "I cannot control myself." He winded his hips to illustrate what he meant. His manhood slide between her thighs slowly and with a beautiful moan, she looked at him with adoring eyes. He growled at the friction that ignited from their bodies and murmured something under his breath.

Without a word, he slide down her body, leaving open-mouthed kisses upon her chest, breasts, stomach and hips until he reached his destination. Pulling her knees apart, his eyes caught the exposed flesh of her sex and his changed from the brilliant shade of grey to the darkened hue of black. His lust became him.

"What a beautiful sight," he murmured, situating himself between her thighs and pulling her lower lips apart to feast upon the flesh that he was about to sample. "Such a sweet scent. I cannot help myself but to…"

"Oh!" her back arched as she felt his tongue lave her sensitive flesh. She cried out desperately when his fingers became part of the symphony of sensations. Mea was overwhelmed; she could not control the building fury in the pit of her core as he pressed more firmly into her, ravishing her with his tongue and flicking it over the hardened numb. She jolted up, combing her fingers through his air as she felt the unexpected current of his powerful strokes. His arms slithered up her body, over her breasts and back to her thigh where they came to wrap themselves around to keep her from quaking too much. Shivers ran down her spine in delicious little spirals whilst something very foreign built deep inside her core. Suddenly, her breaths became heavier as the tight coiling in her lower stomach wounded to the point of breaking. With a resounding cry, she let go of everything and exploded.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she chanted, thrashing about while her lover tried to let her ride out her orgasm. Darkness drank down every ounce of her release as if it would be his last taste of water. His hands roamed over her perspired skin, soothing the intensity of what she had felt. Never in her life had she felt something to earth shattering that it threatened to shift the very belief of her world. As the Light flickered wildly in the aftermath of her collapse, Darkness hovered over her body and looked down.

The back of his hand caressed her cheek lovingly. His eyes shined brighter than anything that he had ever known.

Surely, she felt the extent of his emotions and feelings? If giving her everything that he was not enough for her, then he did not know what else to do. He wanted her wholly, or not at all. Light was a dangerous thing, and even more dangerous to control.

He bent his head down, his erection poking insistently against her stomach. She arched into him again, looking down and undulating against the hardness that was him. As impatient as he, he wanted. He did not want to go through with claiming her without her consent. She offered herself to the God with her heart, body, and soul and he took it has the last praise to their union. With a quick thrust of his hips, he entered her heat and clenched his jaw. Her tight sleeve was hot around his shaft. He dared not to move. A rippling sob ran through her. Her arms clawed at his back harshly but he remained still. After several minutes, she responded to him and he began to move.

Pulling back, watching as the shaft of his manhood came out and covered in her sweet release, he let out a moan and slammed back into her, reclaiming her again and again until a deep, penetrative rhythm was meant. Words such as 'beautiful, love, and my Light spilled from his lips. He hit bottom several times, and with each deep thrust, she called out, her nails clawing at his back. Her legs quaked and they both found the loss of losing themselves to one another more exhilarating than they ever thought possible.

After night became day, the Darkness ceased his ailing questions for Light had given herself to him.

* * *

Draco dragged his finger across his bottom lip as he watched the Light struggled with the images that were haunting her little world. He had tried to protect her from the course of their first coupling, but the stubborn little witch couldn't help herself. She found a way to pull away from him as she welcomed his previous form lavish her skin with kisses and undying touches. He felt incredibly jealous that she was reliving such embraces, but was quick to vanquish the horrid thoughts. He would have her soon again. That was for certain.

He sat in an armchair next to her bed. The Hospital Wing was undeniably quiet since no one had found a way to land themselves in the clutched of the horrible old women that tended the floor. He had to disillusion himself and ensure that Hermione's putrid little bed was free from noise and onlookers. He needed her to be comfortable, and he sensed that she wasn't there would be hell to pay.

His eyes looked over at the sleeping witch before darkening. He could feel the images as they played like a very persuasive picture before her. Draco had not known another's touch besides hers, and if he did, it had been purely out of punishing them. He never wasted his time for another woman's pleasure, only his own. The only one who made him feel and appreciate the whimpering and body of a woman was the witch that was lying in the bed before him. He had tasted many, but he never forgot hers. From the moment he saw her in the Great Hall, he had stopped and given himself fully to her.

He leaned back in his chair and examined the fruit of his ambition. He meant what he said earlier, that she would have to find the encouragement and nerve to accept him as he was. Would she be amicable to his advances, he wondered to himself. He sure hoped she would. Otherwise, the last few millennia would have been a complete loss.

Hermione had been the star of his night, the literal heart of his love. If they could not be together now, or if they found complications he would be envious with fury. He would not let anything stand in his way and he was damn well letting others who had been watching her as closely as he has been know as well.

Shadows collected around her protectively. All of which were in his commission to strike any adversary if they saw they were a threat to her welfare.

He stayed with her until he found the light to which she was profoundly in touch emerged from the depth of her body and soul and reawaken again.

When Hermione woke up almost a day later she was a complete and utter mess. Her hair had been thrown about her and her skin was thick with a layer of sweat. She felt deathly sedated and she couldn't understand why or how. All that she knew was that she would never feel the negative impact of something she knew for sure was the beginning of a new day. Her eyes fluttered open. She could feel that someone was in the room even when they did not make their presence known. Slowly, the witch opened her eyes. The dying light that came through the curtains was uncomfortable and she had to shield her sensitive orbs from further damage. She raised her hand and hissed scathingly to the blinding light. A single voice broke out and scattered it.

Draco sat in the single armchair beside the bed. His eyes were drawn toward her, the muscles in his jaw tight, and the concern in his eyes evident. It took quite a bit of willpower not to ignite, but Hermione managed it well. She was more confused than angry about the situation and she only wished to sort out what happened from the time they were in the corridor up until now. She hopes that he would oblige her. Knowing him, however, she feared he would be keener on telling riddles than actually helping her.

He stood slowly, his eyes never straying from hers. There was an air of tight repression between them that she couldn't grasp, but she let it go as she watched him disperse the light that had been bothering her with a flick of his hand. Their cozy little area darkened. She was instantly relieved.

"It should be safe now, Hermione." Draco moved from the chair that he had been sitting in and moved closer to her.

She sat up as well, looking around the hospital room in confusion. The curtains were drawn, and there was no indication as to how she had gotten there in the first place. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she couldn't control the overwhelming emotion that suddenly befell her. She brought her hands to her face and cried.

"Shh," he came up and soothed her woes. "It is alright."

She wanted to shake her head and tell him no. There was nothing right about her and she was beyond furious that he would even suggest that it was. Courage was not her friend now and the only thing she could count on was the dream that she had and the memory of the time that she shared with him before blacking out. There were so many images of missing hours that she couldn't form even a single formation of information. It was as if time had been taken from her the moment she plunged into the darkness and the only way to get it back was to consort with the man of troubles. Draco would not be easy to sway.

"Why are you here?" she shrieked, wanting to throw everything available to her at him. "You are not supposed to be here!"

Draco didn't say a word, much less moved.

He took her harshness and reproachful delegations without a fight. The Slytherin was in a sense punishing himself for something that Hermione had yet to come to understand.

How was it even possible for him to be standing before her in such clam restriction? Did he not feel any remorse for putting through the torment that she suffered? Had he no inkling as to the harm that he caused, the problems that arose from his involvement? Surely, he knew?

After all these years, he had ceased to amaze her. If it had not been for him running from the Slytherin table during the Sorting Ceremony three years ago, no sort of friendship would have been made between them and their lives would not be as it was today. She owed an extraordinary amount of gratitude toward him. Without the wizard, she simply would not be here.

Hermione shrunk back, afraid to even speak to the man now that she was forming some sort of valuable recognition between the dream and what she saw in reality. Draco had been her unidentified lover. Up until now, it was no his face that she saw behind the gathered dark; it had been his eyes to give him away, though. She was afraid. More afraid that she had been toward anything or anyone in her entire life. Even Professor Snape's ceaseless debauchery couldn't compare to what she was feeling on the inside right now. Draco must have sensed it because he was looking at her as if he had truly done something to frighten her.

"It is natural to be afraid of me," he said with a painful tinge to his voice," but, do not be. There is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you."

She wanted to trust his word but something in the back of her mind came forth and reminded her of the true nature of his being.

 _He is a monster._

 _He has done things not meant for the pure eyes of a mortal._

Be it as it may, she was willing to give him a chance.

Hermione drew her arms from herself. She could feel him watching her. As she rose to her knees, her eyes connected with his and he stepped forward until they were almost leveled with one another. Her head fell above his chest. She had to lift her head just to look at him properly.

Her hands touched his cheeks and he leaned into her warmth the best he could with a long awaited sigh. Her brows furrowed as her mind worked fast to process what she was thinking. As she did, a sharp throb of pain struck her chest. Draco grabbed her wrist, holding them tight as she slumped into his chest and buried her face into his pristine shirt. The pain, which had been close to bearable, was now on the brink of taking over her life. She relished in the hatred that consumed her; she was sick of this illness and would do anything for it to go away.

Draco held her in his arms for as long as she would tolerate. It took her quite a while for her to stop shaking, which only conjured soft cries to issue from the witch as she settled into his arms.

"I-It hap-happened again," she sobbed, shaking her head whilst her hair was thrown about her like a halo of moving wind. Even in her lowest she was considered the most beautiful in his eyes. He kept that to himself, however. "M-my chest… I-I can't do this anymore, Draco. I can't."

"You do not have to," he assured her in a calming voice. "Let me sooth your woes and provide you the sanctuary you deserve, Mea."

The connotation caused her to stop crying and look at him as if he had said something truly absurd. As her tears ceased, she looked up to finding him hovering over her like the man in her dreams had done. He very much resembled him. With his taller, domineering musculature, his luscious blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, she didn't realize just how similar to two deities were until now.

He appeared to know what was going through her mind. He could see the churning of inner workings of her quick mind as it processed and separated truth from lies. As she did, he moved closer until he was standing right in front of her. Her head was leveled with his waist and she suddenly felt small and unprotected from his overbearing power. Hermione looked up and captured his eyes. They had grown dark and she gasped at the unexpected turn. She tried to pull away from but he caught her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist without restricted. Even she was dumbfounded by her lack of escape. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Not when he was with her.

Hermione looked at him, stopping him from whatever he was about to do.

"What did you just call me?" she asked in a low whisper. Her brows were furrowed again in contemplation.

"Mea," he breathed darkly. "That was once your name. As well as many others associated with your kindling spirit. But, that name was mine alone to call you."

Hermione thought for a moment before asking," Was it you who sent me the images?"

He nodded. "You had to see. You had to see what it was like before you were taken from the world."

"By pushing these images when I very well don't want them?" she hissed, pushing him away and staggering to the other side of the bed. She tried to stand, but couldn't. Her legs were just too weak for walking, or should she say, running away. Instead, Hermione sat determinedly on the other side of the bed, crossed her arms and let out a heavy sigh. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She wasn't even aware that she had been crying.

"Just go away." She buried her head in her knees and shook violently.

Draco didn't move.

When she realized he hadn't left, her head snapped up and she glared at him. "I said go away! I don't want to see you anymore."

"That is a lie."

"No it isn't… I don't want anything to…"

Another wave of pain attacked her, this time leaving her quite defenseless. She ceased up, her mouth opened in a silent, unheard scream. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Cold arms wrapped around her until the tantrum stopped. His arms were the only thing that anchored her to the world, and she was more than willing to latch onto him until the episode tide over. It took several brutally long minutes for her to calm down and when she did, she turned in her protector's arms. She was shaking. Her eyes were glossed over with fear.

After a while, Hermione finally asked," When will it stop?"

Draco looked down at her and held her tighter. "Soon, I promise."

"How soon?" she looked up and exhaled shakily. She ached all over. "I can't deal with this anymore."

"I know, you beautiful girl" the back of his hand brushed against her cheek and she shuddered. His eyes grew darker until finally there was no light of grey left to admire. It had been consumed by his lust, his passion and love as well as his heartache. He was a man of broken promises and torment. Hermione reached out to him the best she could and was rewarded by a shaking hug. His arms pulled her up and crashed her into his chest. He sighed in relief as he let her warmth wash over him. It was in his arms that she belonged and nowhere else. She would soon come to realize that. "Such a beautiful girl. I finally have you."

Hermione leaned her head into his chest and closed her eyes. "Who said you ever lost me?"

It was Draco who pulled away first. "Why do you say that?"

"I have always been here." she whispered, hoping that he did not take negatively to her comment. Instead of wanting him to dwell on previous manners, she let go of him and sat back on the bed and frowned. She didn't like to be confined. Draco chuckled seeing her so possessed by turmoil. She was so unlike herself in this present moment that it made him lose sight of what was at stake. "If anything, I can't take this bed.

"You do not want to stay here, then."

"No, I don't." she said, hissing. "Can't I just go back to the Common Room?" she asked, looking at him as he slide into her bed and wrapped her arms around her. She was so quick to amend him for every wrong thing he had done. She was sure to bring it up later. For now, with the potions that were slowly activating inside her tiny little body, a long night of dreamless sleep awaited her.

"Absolutely not," he buried his nose into her hair and inhaled. "I do not want you going back to that bloody tower of yours. I would rather see you struggling to keep your temper in this bed and finding comfort in something you are used to."

"You're so cruel." She gasped as he rolled over and straddled her waist.

He smirked down at her. "Cruel is such a strong word, Hermione. Are you sure that is the word you were searching for?"

She nodded hopelessly, finding the wanderings of his fingers just as pleasurable as they had bene in her dreams. Now, she could feel all of him. There were no restrictions, no blissful veil between the two worlds. She could appreciate him fully and he could do as he pleased with her in return.

"You will come to find soon, my Light, that cruel does not come close to doing what I am justice." he kissed her forehead and then her nose. "I am a great many of things. One being a monster, a deliverer of Darkness." He bent down and licked her neck, feeling her crumbling beneath his gentle touches. Now that he was capturing her the way that he had hoped, nothing was going to hold him back from reclaiming what was rightfully his. "A brute force not to reckon with, but a man of bearing and gentleness is only reserved the special object to of my obsession. You." He tilted his head and lowered his mouth to hers. Still surmised by her novice ruling, she was still able to feed off his energy and tangle herself with his seductive trance. His kiss was deep and hard. He didn't keep anything from her and expected that she did the same, which she did. She delivered surprisingly well, which only made him want her even more. Pressing himself into her, he growled, grabbed her hands by the wrist and held them above her head. All the while, their split heart fluttered wildly inside their chest cavities, exciting them both as to what was to come.

It was time to bring both halves together and make them whole again.

If only she would submit fully and the protective patrons of the school would get off his fucking back. Only a few things stood in his way and he was determined to get rid of them before the time fell for them to come back together as one.

"Hermione," he moaned, letting his lips move over hers in repeated sessions. "You must tell me to stop."

"No," she gasped, his lips finding her neck and sucking onto the unexplored skin. "Please, Draco. Please touch me more."

Growling, he resisted the carnal urge to take her.

"What are you doing to me?" he gasped. "Why do you make it impossible to pull away from you?"

"You shouldn't be asking me that question. You should be asking yourself why."

* * *

A shadow pulled away from the walls. The portraits remained unaware of the disturbance as they continued to doze comfortably in their chosen walls. Two figures stood just beyond the threshold of the Hospital Wing. Night had fallen and it had taken quite a bit of stealthy navigation to come to this conclusion. While they strolled into the unprotected wards of the wing, he stole a solemn glance at the sleeping witch as she snooze soundlessly in the bed in the middle of the room. She appeared to be untouched and unharmed. As if time had never paid its ugly deed.

"Ah, so he has chosen to act," one of the figures asked, his half-mooned spectacles glimmering in the moonlight. "What is the danger, Severus, if there is any?"

"No danger," a dark, silky voice drawled. His black eyes roamed over to the witch momentarily before drifting back to the Headmaster. "What do you suggest we do with the boy?"

The older wizard said nothing. Instead, he walked over to where Miss Granger lied unsuspectingly to their attendance. She tossed and turned to the tempo of some unproductive beat. Her breathing had stabilized; she had just suffered yet another episode not too long ago and it was under the decision of the Headmaster to administrate a special brew in order to tide her over until they were able to figure out what they wanted to do with her. The Demon chasing her was no ordinary Demon, and if they didn't take the precautions, he could very well destroy them all. It was his association with the world's oldest of demoralizing souls that they had to ensure that they took the necessary steps.

"Do you have the phial, Severus?"

"Of course," the Potion's Master took out the phial that he held inside of his robes. He produced a rather odd looking phial, its contents glowing with an eerie shade of silver white. "I must warn you, it is not the right time to administer this. It will only work on the full moon. It is best that we wait until tomorrow."

"Very well," The Headmaster waved his head in indication for him to put the phial away.

"What do you intend to do, Headmaster, if it is so bold of me to ask?" Severus stepped in the shadow created by the older wizard's physique. Along with him, he too wanted to know what to make of the situation between Malfoy and his little friend. "I fear that there is a dark force at play. Would it be wise for us to leave the girl in his care when the time does finally come?"

"A sacrifice must be made." Dumbledore's voice came out softly, singed with impenetrable night of concern. "The Demon has set claim to her. What other choice do we have to let him have her?"

"We have the choice to stop him," the Potion's Master quirked an eyebrow. "We cannot allow that monster to-"

"Severus," the Headmaster's decrepit voice rose in warning. He had come to dread some of their nightly visitation and he was beginning to wonder why he had sought him out." I cannot sway him anymore than you can. He had gone entirely too long without the embrace of the light. How would you feel after searching for so long and finally finding it after all these years just to be told you couldn't acquire it? I would discerningly mad. As for boy, watch him. He is not of danger to anyone at all. Not until the night when she is given to him. Until then, we shall watch them.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm housesitting for a family friend right now and her fur babies make it next to impossible to sit down and concentrate on editing my chapters. Along with the ADHD that I'm sure the doctors have missed over the last 20 years or so, I'm finding it a bit easier to write as the days go by. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. It's purely unedited. What do you expect? I'm tired, my eyes hurt, and I wrote over 4000+ words to get this chapter done. I'm exhausted. I'll edit it some time later and hopefully have the new and improved version up tomorrow morning. Be patient.

I will have updated versions of the chapters so far soon. I have five other stories to work on, which will come in succession of 1-2 story updates per day then hopefully 1 every 4-5 days after that. Finger's crossed.

With all my love,

Carolare Scarletus


	7. Abduco

**A/N** down below

 **Note:** May not be fully edited, so please do not be distressed!

As always, enjoy

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·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

Encomium Ombre

Chapter Six

Abduco

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

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.¸¸.

For which this marks

the era of mistakes

Take formidable note

of the art that is deception.

.¸¸.

* * *

The Darkness sat upon his throne, the little light that was able to reach him flickering above his head. There were whispering all around him, of enjoyment and entertainment. All eyes were concentrated on the dance being presented to them with such kind, gentle ease. No one gave his turmoil a second thought, or the man who lay bleeding on the floor in the middle of assembly whose intestines lied wrapped around his throat and the look of pure shock and imprinted on his face. With dead, merciful eyes, he vanquished the man back to the depths of his realm, too lost to enjoy the torture of one human or apprise the man who made him aware of his forthcoming doom. He was just too tired to even attempt to feign his eternal enjoyment.

Black ink and shards of glass lay ambient around the man's feet. Puncture wounds dotted his arms and the remnants of a quill remained protruding from his skin. Rivulets of blood slid down in even intervals. Broken glass cut the bottoms of his feet, the nightfall sliding across the floor, its slender fingers scraping against his legs. The scent of fear enticed them. The children's hisses grew prominent and soon it was all he could hear. Shadows circled his waist, bringing him down to his knees. His feet sunk deeper into the unreachable void. Nails dug into his wounds, forcefully stripping him of his innocence as the whispers of assurance filled the air.

"Waited for you."

A small figure emerged from the darkness, its skin stained with blood, eyes deprived of a soul. A smile stretched across his scaled face, tearing the corners of his lips all the way up to his ears, exposing his three rows of teeth. Blood spilled from the wound, down his chin, and onto its shirt. Nails elongated, teeth bared like a wild dog, the creature lunged. Claws pierced delicate skin, ripping apart muscle and scraping against bone. Eyes rolled to the back of its head, tasting blood for the first time in ages. Low, hushed voices filled the air. Chanting together, the words grew louder.

"Blood," a disembodied voice said. "I smell blood."

The man backed away from the monster, feet pounding against the pavement, echoing down the long, dark hallway. He tried to escape, tried to get away from the monster that chased him but it was relentless in its pursuit to capture him. The monster trailed behind him, its golden eyes glowing with uncontrollable thirst, bearing its teeth. Blood ran down the corners of his lips. The monster snarled, thrusting forwards. Clawed fingers dug into the man's skin. A terrified scream echoed like a century's old tune down the corridor. It filled the courtroom with laughter and delight; this was what true entertainment looked and felt like- the deafening shriek of a worthy soul.

"No!" the accustomed cry filled the room, jostling the onlookers with glee. "Make it stop!"

A high-pitched laugh pierced the air, followed by another terrified shriek. It wasn't until the monster was inches from her face that he realized that the scream belonged to him. Another scream was building up inside, threatening to burst. Something licked his ankle, a tail that sent a flare of infuriating pain straight through his skin. Trying to bite back another scream, he tried to push the monster off him. The pain penetrating his leg was gradually worsening. The monster was persistent.

Its claws pierced the sensitive skin of his thighs, silencing the man and riding him of all rational sense. Creatures of the night came and found release upon his body, cackling as the man wept for clemency, but none came. If the courtroom knew of what this man did, they would agree with their Lord that no forgiveness shall be made. His body became painted with their fluids; he was bathed in excrements previously unknown to him.

Red eyes met his. The man stared into the eyes of death as he felt his body crumble and decay.

An incongruous grin spread across his grainy face, his eyes gleamed excitedly, bearing into the man's green eyes. The atmosphere grew intolerably close. In a moment's decision, the monster attack, its teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of his neck as it tore away at the large artery that ran from his neck and gave blood to the rest of his body. He became deprive of oxygen as his blood spilled to the floor. A hollowed scream reverberated throughout the hall, fanning the fire of excitement with its decisive quote.

He stared death in the face and his image reflected back.

He was the monster.

Darkness watched until the final rays of life extinguished in his eyes, death taking the tainted soul to Hell and leaving behind the empty vessel where it once lived. Draco fell away from victory, his thirst quenched for the time being. Countless times he had seen this fascinating process of life being swallowed by death but never has it captivated him more than watching the life drain from someone who allegedly knew the person who he sought out so enthusiastically. Blood had pooled around the motionless corpse, running down the cracks of the floor unevenly until it pool around him. Soon, someone would find the scene and by then he would be long gone, seeking out the only thing that made him feel remotely human besides the sinful act of taking a life.

It had been entirely too long since he last killed; if he remembered correctly the last time he stole someone's life was approximately two weeks ago during their three day trip to lands far and wide. Even then he believed the man deserved to die, although his console did not. The opinions of others never really mattered to him, but he supposed he could try to understand what others could possibly be feeling, what could be playing in their minds. This realization quickly grew to another promise; he would try with all his being to be more open-minded, less aggressive and harsh. Try; it didn't necessarily mean he would give up killing altogether when there were so many deserving individuals.

Personally, he thought the man deserved it although in the end he didn't get the answers he wanted. Not that it mattered much; just as he did with the meeting with the world's elite, he would find a way to get the answers to his questions. _Eventually, I will fulfill my promise_ , he thought examining his body for blood. When he found none, he dared one last glance at the pile of rotting flesh that lied limply several feet away from him and smirked. One down; many more to go.

In the illumination of the crescent moon, his thoughts brought him back to her and what he apparently thought during his episode of anger. They weren't exactly dating since they only just rekindled their lost relationship. The idea was by no means disgusting to him; in fact, he liked to idea of her being his, and only his. Nothing would make him happier than having her by his side until the words of the deceased man surfaced from the already fleeting memories, earning a growl from him even beyond the grave.

' _She's not that bad look is she, with her gorgeous eyes and provocative body'_

Draco's head began to hurt at the sudden memory of what the man had said fairly close to his demise. Even now, he could still hear the interest that his voice was filled with, see the lust in his eyes someone who was much older than himself shouldn't be exhibiting towards an underage female. A part of him could even feel what the other man could have possibly felt but he was quick to abandon those particular emotions and ideas that even the demon within him wanted to explore, begging him to open up that underdeveloped part of his body. Denying him something like that wasn't an easy task either.

Mortals were disgusting. Filthy little creatures that deserved every damned battle of cruelty thrown at them. If it was not for one simple fact, he would wage war against them and see to the destruction of their entire world. He was made aware of a promise he made, and was quick the shake the unwanted thoughts, gathering as much self-control as he could, centering himself so his next trip would not cause alarm for concern. That would be last thing he needed for her to sense something was wrong, to see behind his perfectly constructed façade, for hatred to inspire within her to break away from his protective arms and delve back into a world filled with nothing but dishonesty and pain. After years he assume of hard work and diligence to get her back to a state prior to being abused and attacked began to shattered, crashing down like a broken mirror around him leaving the pieces to lie ambient at his feet. As much as it scared him to stay with her, knowing she could see through his outer appearance and see the demon inside him, something else frightened him even more. He just didn't want to lose her again.

The world was a cold, dark place without her giving light. He had grown to miss it that what he despised the most began to turn to him in their moment of need. He has heard their voice, seen to some of the less peculiar of inquiries. But, there was only so much he could do without her. In all honesty, it is she they needed the most, not him. She was in danger, though. He knew the possibility of her being abused as she has been in the past would remain high, but right now he wasn't going to indulge in something that he could easily control, just as his inner demon can control his emotions and actions. Somehow he would find a productive way to demolish the nightmares and restore the life that once filled her eyes like the stars did the night sky. He wanted the girl he knew back and if it were up to him it would happen in an instant. Sometimes, things needed to be fought for than just handed over. That way, it would be more liberating.

Taking a deep breath in, he looked down at where the man lay sprawled like some limb puppet, thinking back to the countless times he has stared at the suspended object that was once life. Thankfully, his life force was slowly losing its illuminances; the demon within him will be less aggressive, more controlled, or so he hoped. His pet continued to stir angry within him, his tail swaying agitatedly he could only assume was about the act they were about to partake in. There would be no more killing tonight; no, there will only be the simple act of comfort, the innocence of seeking something strictly forbidden for someone so evil. His servants were bestowing him with their own line of torture, defiling his body as his deepest desires saw fit before his discovery. He was receiving the same treatment that she would have gotten if the fat bastard did not succumb to a fatal heart attack and died before he had the chance to get her. It was one victory in the light of his eyes.

"Master," the demons provoked.

He looked at him and smirked; he knew what they wanted to do and gave them permission to do so. "Do to him as you see fit. He is no concern of mine until payment is made and he crosses my waters."

They made a sound of contentment as they crawled all over his body, ripping his deathly skin and ingesting his rotting flesh. Here where he was, flesh did not last long after death and if they were to have their fill of him, they had to act quickly. Not that raw flesh and mineral enriched blood was a problem; they thrived on the source. It was their lifeline.

Draco sat back in his seat, bringing his hand to his face. He drew a line down his face, his emblazed. He had witness them partake a great many of things. The act still intrigued him.

"My Lord," someone ask to his right. "I do not wish to disturb you."

"You are not," he waved his hand, not bothering to look at who had demanded his attention. "What is it that you want?"

"There are important matters that you must attend to." He said. "This mortal was not the only one on the list to execute. There are many others."

He knew what he spoke of, but he did not have the time to deal with them just yet. Seeing as they have yet to even be projected in the ceremonial judgement and retelling of their lives, he asked his servant to send them into an earlier retirement. He would deal with them tomorrow morning before he had to leave and go to the land above.

"Have them sent to the room." He told him. "I shall reclaim them as soon as I return in the morning. Leave them but keep them suspended. I do not want them getting any ideas while I am away."

The Chambers were deathly cold. With only a small fire to accompany the growing cold, Draco was left to ponder a great many of things with no solace in the fact that every decision he made could very be his last, or at the very least destroy what he has carefully built. Not a whisper was spoken through the catacombs. Though, something seemed to carry through the sacred walls and hued tapestry. The once pristine stone was now in rumbles and the only homage that was paid was the growing layers of dirt and grim that had accumulated over the years of misuse and illusory conduct. Small rodents have made it their home; through the maze of tubes and pipes, the voices of its victims still lingered, still searching for a possible way out.

Woman of great beauty stood around him, attending to his every need. His console diminished to a fair few, leaving them to defend themselves in case the women revolted and attacked.

"Does seeing this man being punished displease you, my Lord?" asked a feminine from beside him.

Draco did not look at her, but he could her naked breasts pushed up against his shoulder, her body producing the most delicious of scents. He could feel every inch of her delectable body, the past running into him like the most powerful typhoon. If he had not been a controlled man, he would have fallen for her seductive dance. Fortunately, he did not. His daughters knew better not to mess with him. And, this was one daughter he should have gotten rid of a long time ago.

"No." he touched the head of his beloved pet.

"Then, it pleases you."

"It does." He told her, lifting his chalice and taking another sip of his wine while he watched the monster that took the life of the Muggle slither from his reach. "Take him away," he waved his hand, watching restlessly as his latest captive be plucked from the floor and tossed to the catacombs of his domain. He would deal with him later, it seemed.

As the floor was purged of the filth left behind from his pet, his servant came to him again, this time attempting the one thing that was all too displeased to announcing the arrival of their guests. It seemed, despite his knowledge, the whore had constructed a night of employment in his honor, to which he scathingly argued.

"Guests?" he inquired doubtfully. "I was not aware that we would have guests this night."

"They have travelled a great distance to entertain you-"

"I do not need entertainment." He told the tainted woman. "I want to be left alone."

"Would you not at least pretend to enjoy what I have planned for you?" she said, hissing.

With a deathly glare, he turned to her and asked," What did you-"

In that instant, the doors of his throne room swung open, immediately drawing the attention of Darkness as he growled and snapped his head in the direction of the commotion. Watching as the world's most dangerous, yet enticing of creatures waltz in, his magic sent out a threatening flare toward the cackling woman as she pulled away too quickly for his liking and joined the dance of the Veela along with her sister. Their movements were synchronized to the very last step, and like all the rest, her hair was moonlight made and her eyes were woven from the coarse fabric of the sea. She was the prize of haunting possession and he couldn't wait to get ahold of her so he could tear her limb from limb. The fucking cunt has been a thorn in his arse for far longer than he could remember; it was time that she was eliminated.

Draco leaned back against his luxurious throne, his eyes burning. His hands twitched with the need to kill and if it had not been for her, he would be far from the message of his gathering and in a world of his own. The witch's words were a curse that he so wished to break; she was another one that he needed to get rid of, and soon.

The Veela continued their hypnotic dance, knowing that it had no effect on their king. They swayed their hips, moved their hands and body with powerful motions that even made him susceptible to their longing call. They were succubuses, curses upon the men of humanity. The time for reckoning was neigh; he would not allow some wasted creatures distract him of his greater plan. For the longer he waited, the more power he became.

"It seems that my lord is truly not in the mood to entertain," purred the woman. As she looked at him sideways, a thought appeared in her mind, to which he saw. His skill in Legilimency was unrivaled; nothing ever gets past him. "Perhaps, I can entertain you?"

Draco let the wench rise from where she sat, her body moving to the beat of the enticing music sung by the Veela women. Just as the others, her body was wholeheartedly captivating. Every smooth curve mouthwatering, every inch of her skin shining with a succulent sheen, it made him highly aware of a certain masculine aspect that was arousal. He let his body guide him and soon he found himself wanting more of her calls. Whether it came from the lyrical promise or the sweet scent that was her body, he was most definitely feeling something towards the little wench.

What made matters worse was that she knew.

"Ah, my Lord." she said gleefully. "It seems that I have awoken you at last."

He groaned deeply. She shifted in his lap like a large, exotic cat. Clawing and moving about as her hands moved over his naked shoulders and down his impeccable chest, to his stomach where a welcomed present awaited her.

Unfortunately, that was when he decided to stop her.

"Get off me, whore." He hissed. "You have had your fun.

"Fun is hardly the word I would use," she seethed, rubbing the wrist that he grabbed with tenderness. "If I may say so, you have lost your touch."

"No, my touch is perfectly fine. It is your touch that repulses me."

The woman smirked, seeing past something that only she could see. "Repulsed? That is not what you said some time ago when all you craved was the touch of my hands upon your body. How long ago was it?"

"Too unimportant to recall." He stated flatly, pushing her off of him before she had the chance to do as she thought. He had had enough of her games. "Leave me and take your sisters with you."

As she was thrown from his lap, the woman looked up at him with scornful eyes. Ever since his travels to the outer reaches of the land, he has become harsher, crueler. Nowadays, he would not give any other woman a second glance. In his eyes there would only be one and she was currently resting in the one place that he did not wish for her to be. Her spot was right next to him, as his spot was next to her. You could not have Darkness without his Light.

"It is that girl, is it not?" she asked, heartbroken. "She has stolen you from me. Distracted you from what you once knew." The woman stood, bared to the world and all her body for him to see. "Do I really repulse you, my Lord? Have you truly forgotten the pleasure that my body has brought you?"

"What has she supposed stolen, Hedrina?" he asked, leveling his cold, calculating eyes on her. "Last time I checked, I was my own man and that I did not belong to another."

"So, it is true?"

"It would seem that your perception of me is entirely-"

"Do not play the fool with me!" she said angrily. "I can sense it!"

Her temper rose as she relayed the humiliation that she was forced to undergo. All the while, Draco did not listen to her pleas and woes; he cared not for them for he had other things to worry about than the crazy ramblings of a woman that had become infatuated by him. As inspiringly amusing as it was, he had no time to dwell on what possible course she could lead him on. If time was not an adversary, he would surely have taken care of her. Not this night, however.

He knew how to get rid of her.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder before travelling down to fiddle with the pendant laced around his neck. Underneath his deceptively unmoving skin was the beat of a heart. She touched his breastbone and was rewarded with the exact punishment she so desired. In a blur of motion, his hand shot out, his finger wrapped around her neck. He had her dangling by tendons of her neck, and then he stood, his eyes become dark and bounding. It was not the Veela's nature to understand rejection, but pain they were all too familiar with. It would do his children greatly to learn by the mistake of their sister not to touch him, much less what did not belong to them. His person was not their personal play toy; if he so wished it, their bodies were to his to manipulate. They were his to maim, to control, to torture; so, what use did he have for sexual pleasure when he had someone that they could never compare to? Even summer light could not outshine her.

The sooner he did the ritual, the better. The Veela were forgetting who ruled over them and it was bloody time that he took back his throne.

"What," his breath hot against her face," did I tell you about touching me?"

"I-I.." The whore clawed at his hand but he did not relent.

"You what?" he seethed. "Forgot? Didn't care to remember? Tell me, wench."

"F-f-felt a b-beat…"

"Of course you dimwitted fool!" he shook her rapidly until he found that it gotten through her thick skull. "I burn for her! My heart beats when she is near. How could you possibly have been so fucking stupid to think that it was not capable of beating?"

With newly found rage, he threw her. Her body soared across the courtroom and landed on the cold, hard floor like a limp pile of dirt. When she awoke, she splattered blood all over his pristine floor, adding on to the endless pool of blood that he has seen since its completion. He walked over to her, kneeling at the foot of the mess he created

"If you ever touch me like that again I will see to it that you are erased from this world, your very being catalogued as non-existent. Do I make myself clear?"

She did not nod, but with a quick invasion of her mind, he soon found that she understand perfectly of the threatened that he had spoken of.

Once he came back to his body and mind, he became aware of the figure that stood in front of them, his hands in the pocket of his trousers and his cane held between his arm and the side of his body. He had been there for a while now. If only he had realized it sooner.

"Now, my Lord." Lucius chastised with a look of disapproval. "Haven't I taught you better not to mess with your whores? What would your mother have to say about this?"

"She would be quite pleased," he bit out. "This one was about to become too personal for my liking. I was just thinking about disposing of her."

"Disposing of her?" He looked at the woman with steely eyes. Hers were wide with fear. "I don't see why there is any need to dispose of her, my Lord. Why don't you make the little slut useful for someone who would do well with her company?"

"Ple-please!" she choked out painfully, still clawing as if his hand were wrapped around her neck, desperate now.

They looked at her speculatively until the decision to spare her life was made. He knew not of the use that the woman would have; though, he couldn't very well kill her just yet.

Not entirely happy, he leaned forward and whispered," I only tolerate you, Hedrina. She may have created you, but you, as everything else, fall under my judgement when I see fit. Do not forget that."

Draco stood, his eyes betraying him for a moment as something passed over him. Keen interest, he supposed; his servants expected an answer to their question. He turned, finding that the beasts had already arrived, each bearing their naked bodies as his daughter do on a daily and unhindered basis. Their arousal remained evidently erect; they stood ready to pound and it was his sole desire to grant them that wish.

He told them, "It seems that Hedrina has been without for far too long. Make her feel acquainted with the feeling of being fucked and stuffed to the brim. I want her pussy white by the time I get back. Whatever you do to her, I care not. Do as you so please."

They could fucking kill her for all he cared, so long as she was out of the way.

Darkness walked away, not wanting to be the first to partake in her body as he has done so many times in the past. It has been centuries since he has partaken, but knowing he would soon have her in his arm again made the desire to expel years of sexual frustration was more enough motivation to remain celibate. He was a dark deity with even darker thoughts and desires; what would become of his light once she discovered their more atrocious history and relived what those horrid monsters did to her?

He could not say.

For as long as he could, he planned to keep her in the loop of darkness. That way, when the time came when she had to relive the horror of their past, she would be safe from one thing but exposed to another. He only hoped that she would be able to forgive him for what he has done.

"I believe you made a wise decision, my Lord."

"Why do you say that?"

Lucius looked behind them and said," She will make a good companion."

"What companion do you speak of, Malfoy?" he asked. "Do you wish to sully your cock in her defiled channel?"

"No, I-I merely wish to-"

"Silence," he hissed. "I have enough of your nonsense. If you do not wish to touch her then do well to not bring her up. She is unimportant, as all the others are. There is only one for me and if we do not act soon…"

Growling, Draco stole to the night, his courtroom becoming tainted by the howls of his servants as they feasted upon all her holes. Her tortured, yet yearning screams echoed throughout the hall. In his wake, he looked over his shoulder, brows drawn together as he pondered something he ought to leave alone. In a moment's decision, that was exactly what he did. He left his courtroom as quietly as he first arrived. No one bothered to stop him and those who did were arriving to take part in the assembly that he had called for at the very last minute. None of them looked too thrilled to have been awoken from suspended sleep; neither was he, but there were matters that he needed to attend to this night. There was the condition of Hermione's state.

It was unbeknownst to her the cause of such an illness. Although far from the spectrum of modern medicine, he knew all too well the effects of having half a heart. It would only continue to beat for the amount of years it was given, which with his calculations were soon coming to an end. He knew that fifteen years would be enough; he just did not imagine he toll it would take on her. Hermione was never a weak girl; all her being was enrichened with every bit of essence that she was able to give to the world. The breeze was her air; the streams her blood, the tree and rolling hills her hair, and the hollows of the earth the amount of times she had been used and left forgotten. She has lived up to potential far greater than that of herself, so she was by no means weak and pitifully barren. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he would easily admit that she was far more powerful than if given to the right circumstances. He was just that inferior to her; though, he has gotten stronger, obtained more fearful power and risen to the highest peak of their mountain. It was a well-known fact; light dispersed the darkness and the darkness was there to consume the light. They lived their lives in a constant state of balance. If one teetered too far to either side, everything would be thrown into chaos, thus creating an imbalance. As he had done so in the best, it was up to him to set things straight.

"I suspect that they are there waiting?"

"Yes, and they wish to speak to you about something."

"If my suspicions are correct, the news cannot be anywhere near good."

Lucius did not reply.

It was then when his thought betrayed him and he thought back to a few years ago. He was only a fourth year then, but bloody hell he was getting tired of sticking around at the filthy castle they called a school. He had just been released to the death sentence of a lesson, the last one for the term and was well on his way to going back home for the winter break when he stumbled upon a scene that he would never forget. Hermione had just come down the corridor, on her way from a long session of being in the Library when she unexpectedly fell to the floor and began convulsing like something was strangling her. She had clawed at her throat much like his last victim did, only this time, there was nothing harming her and she could have easily have gotten out of it. Struggling for breath and seconds away from passing out, Draco did the unthinkable and drew in his concealed magic to help her out. The looked of terror in her amber eyes still haunt him to this very day and it has become the driving force in which he fed off. He saved her, of course. But, he would never forget just how precious and intriguing a moment like that was.

He learned something entirely truthful that day. His suspicions were the nightmare of his waking hour and the befuddlement of his nightly cause. A great deal of hours was spent pondering the notion, the very idea of it, and he supposed it was only then that he came to terms with it.

Hermione was dying.

Not from some natural phenomenon that mortals seemed to hail, but from an unhealthy heart. Granted, he had given her the weaker half. If it were possible for his heart to even beat, he thought. It was so battered, so broken, so lifeless that for someone like her or any mortal would have problems handling such a destructive thing. Her body was rejecting it, and in return he believed that she was rejecting him. Since she walked through those doors, he has shown her nothing but kindness. He has gone out his way to make her feel comfortable, kept his distance and only came to her when she needed him. Hell, he has even given her dimwit of friends to win his approval, but never did the chance of rejection cross his mind. He supposed he believed she would always be there, always be open to him. Or, perhaps, this was the result of something else that he never saw coming. Perhaps, the world was finally healing now that he was one step close to reuniting it with their long lost mother.

He came to remember a time when the earth was balanced, and it instantly became another dream to strive for.

His feet tore at the black floor, the robe in which came to suit him brushing airlessly against the smooth surface as he practically glided to his assembly room. He had not felt the touch of his feet upon the floor at all; air was a worthy companion in this dire time of need. He felt the wind against his body take flight and he was soon standing before his console, eyes blazing, and their weak little bodies quivering beneath his heady gaze. Their black cloaks were drawn up and around their heads and on their face sat a perfectly silvered mask of great depiction. He cared not for their reason behind such shyness; all he cared about the ones who was brave enough to attend.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, take all the attention of the room as he appeared before them. "It is always a pleasure to serve you."

Everyone went rampant with their formal greeting, each bestowing upon him the appropriate title that he deserved. He walked into the room without granting them access to any of his attention; they convened for business and that the only thing that they would discuss during tonight's meeting. Draco moved around the large room, eyeing the magnificent wooden table to which was chosen for the occasion. He marveled at its splendor, but nothing deserved more of a round of applause than his friends. Without them, this night would not have come. Without them, he would not be so painstakingly mad.

"Now," he said with an uncharacteristic grin," that the formalities are done, we can get on with business."

He gestured for them to take their seats once again, having done so already. With a wave of his hand, drinks of their choice appeared before them and they indulged in the finest luxuries that their world had to offer. Firewhiskey was not a bad choice, either.

They came to him in their most vulnerable states, none of them imagining the true horror that awaited him. If he had been mad with the Veela that dared touched him, then he was seething was consumed rage for their disobedience. He had seen into their minds the moment they set foot onto his land, and that had only been but a few minutes. It was enough to discover something that truly pissed him off.

 _He_ was in the midst of being awoken.

Out of the all the damned creatures of the Gods' forsaken land, he had to awaken from his slumber. If his plans during those times had been anything like the ones he was planning now, then humanity was royally fucked. The bastard had the nerve to show his face, and that was more than enough reason to thwart him before he did any reprehensible damage.

He still hadn't forgotten about the last time he was set out into the world…

Answers needed to be found.

"I have called this meeting, pulled you from your families and daily activities to ask you all one simple question and I expect an answer."

They did not speak or move.

He looked at them and asked," Is it true, then? That he has figured out a way to come back from the grave?"

His followers hesitated. He expected as much. When one of them finally spoke, Draco leaned into his chair and brought his hands up in front of him. He was in for quite the was not all that concerned. If he had not found a way to come back from the dead, then he was of no threat to them.

"H-he has, my Lord. We only found out just a few nights ago, but we couldn't relay the message to you. The wards to your abode were drawn close. We had to wait."

"I am highly aware that my wards were closed, Dolohov. What I want to know is why."

"He wants to achieve what was stolen from him last time he treaded the earth."

"You mean what was stolen from me," Draco whispered darkly. "He stole something very precious to me and it is about time that I got it back. I have given him everything. The very least he can do is stay in the void where he belongs."

His assembly trembled beneath the weight of his words.

It was Malfoy who spoke next. "You mean to destroy him before he rose to power?"

"Yes," he said," and I plan to rid the world of all those damned creatures he empowered with his campaign. He has been in control for far too long. It will do me well to get back into the grace of how things ought to be."

"What do you speak of?"

"I speak of," he looked at the Carrow siblings shrilly," the cause that he had invoked. With the promise of riding the world of mortals he was able to procure a very hefty following. He dreamt of a world without them, where they could be free as we were so rightfully born to do. He promised me something in return, as you are all aware. I would have position and more power. All I had to do was create those creatures that I spoke of and everything that I ever wanted would be handed to me. I did, blinded by him. In return of my support, my loyalty, he-"

He stopped then, too absorbed in the memory to even continue. The memory, though it happened long ago, still seemed so fresh inside his mind.

How could he tell his audience about the horrors of what he had done? The thing that he spoke of had given him what he wanted, but at a terrible price. It was his fault that the world was destroyed, that the land was pillaged, that Hermione was raped and mutilated. He was young then, just in the beginning of finding out where he belonged. If only he knew… if he only knew what he was capable of. He would have chosen his allegiance more carefully. Perhaps she would have lived.

"All I ask is that he is restrained, yes?"

It was then that the tables turned.

A bewitching coldness swept over them and soon every one of them found themselves upright, their faces stricken with hardness, and their Lord pacing before them. He had used some sort of ancient magic that forced them to lose a moment of time that they would never look back, and they reaped the benefits of what that power could do. It was beyond anything they have ever felt, and if they acted the fool or did anything to piss him off, they were certain to see more of it and in a far grander amount.

"M-my Lord." a voice said. He was the only brave one in the mass of his assembly.

Draco looked to him

"He is restrained, is he not? "he bellowed, placing his hands beneath the table and flipping it over with the flick of his wrist. They all stood, startled, but said nothing. Some of them made gasps of surprise while others whimpered in his commanding darkness. They were nothing without him. Draco sensed fear akin to wafting of burning corpses; everyone in his limited assembly was frightened with the knowledge that their Lord could do anything. If they displeased him, there was just no telling what he would make them all do. He walked around the room, eyeing each of them like a meal to be eaten. He was quite hungry, and he fed on their fear. "Answer me! Time and time again you all confound me. There is little time now that the aligning is so close. Yet, you all found that the time was neigh, that you pulled yourselves away from me to act the fool!"

"Someone took him."

Darkness stopped and turned to face them, hand drawn behind him. Lucius stood beside him, having done wrong. The threat of it was weakened because he, too, had been forced to something that he had no memory of.

"How long?"

"A few weeks."

He paced in front of them. "Why has it not been brought to my attention? My wards were open then, so tell me why it was not brought up."

No one dared to speak.

"I have asked you to do one simple thing and you all have failed me." Beneath their masks, their expression turned suddenly grim. Grimaces, to his sight, were of nasty pursuit. If they knew the exact pain of his disapproval and anger, they wouldn't be making such faces. They wouldn't be moving at all. "Would anyone like to tell me why?"

"Why what, m-my Lord?"

"Why everything I have worked so hard to accomplish has gone to shite!" his fury became a physical storm of violence as he released every bit of pint up rage from his body. He expelled everything, every salute to his emotions until there was physically left of him. His followers screamed and tore from his incredibly hold, scurried around like lost lambs. They thought they were safe, but that couldn't be further from the truth. During their struggled to remain absolutely calm and collected, a dark shadow had shot out of their Lord's body and was now proceeding to wrap itself around each other their bodies. "Who took him?"

It all happened all at once; their bodies were doused it darkness, tied up and raised into the air. They struggled in its grasp, kicked and screamed as the threshold of their throats was reduced to just a thin split of a tunnel. Their master had full intention to suffocate them to death, they were sure. The error that he spoke of was not entirely out of their reach; they only hoped that they were given the chance to at least explain themselves. He was never known to not strike a bargain, but that didn't mean he would care to even listen.

Within blink of an eye, they found themselves strewn on the floor, breathing heavily and rubbing whatever area that the shadow had wrapped around. Some were scattered farther than others; some, well, lay motionless as a result of being thrown at the wall or having their bodies crushed beneath the sheer power of the shadows strength. Their Lord didn't seem the least bit concerned, but at least he appeared to have listened to whatever silent reach they were able to procure.

Draco was livid. The one fucking thing that was critical for his revenge to work had been foiled. His followers couldn't even do that right, and look where he was- pacing back and forth, his image split and torn between his mortal façade and his demonic one. What would she think of him? Fuck what he had done, he was hell bent on fixing what happened now that someone had infiltrated the creature's lair and took his remains to conspire against him. When he found the fucker who did it… there was literally no telling what he would do. They would have one bloody hell of a time telling him what they planned to do with him if they had any chances of getting out of the deep shite that they were in, that was certain.

Festering in his rage, he looked upon his followers with absolute disgust. Never in all his time has he been so anger, so bewildered by their disloyalty and insolence. The walls of his hall peeled away; his blood boiled inside his body.

A painful scream shook the hall. Darkness has moved from where he stood and was now preying upon a helpless victim, a new recruit. None of them knew the cause of such treatment; all they knew was they were to keep their mouths shut and watch with pitiful expression the abuse of their fellow ally. The look of pure terror was etched on his face while a foul scowl deformed their Lord's.

"Who opened his casket?"

The man choked on his own blood vomit as it came up his throat and out his mouth.

"We don't know, my Lord."

"Liar!"

"We state the truth." It was Malfoy. He came up to him, pleadingly. "We don't know who did it, but we are certain of what they want to do with the remains."

"And that is what?"

"They intend to resurrect him," he told him. "Not only does he have plans to rise to power once more, he plans to use the Potter boy as a key ingredient. He's roamed earth once before, my Lord, as you know. He was weak then, but there is evidence to suggest that it was the boy who delivered him to his just deserved end."

"You mean to tell me Potter has something that no one else has? That he has powers even he is unaware of?"

Draco would have remembered someone like that. He always hated him. He was too close to Hermione and only tolerated him because of her. He wouldn't have sat well with her if he had went and killed her little friend and he's starting to wish he had. Potter was a weakling, a boy with no great attributes but if he was going to be the key ingredient in his reawakening, then who was he to thwart his plan? Let the bastard come back to life. He was the ruler, the darkness; he could take Riddle dead or alive. It didn't matter to him

A majestic smile curved into his face.

"Let him"

Lucius continued to reconcile. "But, what of your plans with the girl? Surely you can wait-"

"I said let him." His laughter was atrocious. "Let the bastard come back. Do whatever you must to ensure that he comes back. Put Potter into the Goblet of Fire. Let him try to rise to power in my time and age. I could use good entertainment."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"It would be suicide!"

Draco vanquished their useless attempts to get him to reconsider.

He stood now, committed to the idea. "If he shall rise again, we must be prepared. I have protected humanity for far too long and their mother is close to reacquainting herself with her beloved children. Gods forbid if they do not receive her as she was were, but I will do everything in my power to protect her. I owe her that. Potter will do. He will hold him off long enough for me to plan my attack and form the necessary allies."

With that, he vanished.

* * *

 **A/N:**

I have said it once and I might as well say it again: God works in mysterious ways.

I have just recently been offered a position at Burger King that until just last week I was just too busy to look into. But, guess what y'all? Your girl got the job! But, my worst fears have been realize: I was put on drive-thru Y.Y

There has been some balancing act in regards to classes when they start up again and my work schedule. It has all been rectified, and I hope that I can juggle School, Work, and writing as well as helping a potential business partner out on Fridays/Saturday. She just recently told me that she will be getting another salon and that as soon as I get my Cosmetology license, I will be working there at all three locations Tuesday-Saturday mornings, leaving my nights open to work at Burger King.

I am incredibly blessed to be gifted these life-changing opportunities and I can't be anymore grateful. On December 24, I went to a Christmas Service and found the answers that I needed and finally found some kind of resolution to certain things.

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas because I know I did! If I don't update before January 1st, which I will be trying my hardest to do so, I hope you all have a wonderful New Year. I'm really hoping 2017 brings more good than bad and we all find ourselves. :)

-Carolare Scarletus


	8. somnum exterreri

_As always, enjoy_

* * *

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

Encomium Ombre

·*~-.,¸¸,.-~*

* * *

.¸¸.

'Tis but in the brightness

Of the days insinuation

The gentle breeze

That carries away

.¸¸.

* * *

 **Friday September 2, 1994**

A chilling decree enveloped her as she shuffled down the corridor. With nothing but the tip of her wand and a simple charm, she was guided toward certain doom. She's been down this path before, seen its boundless but never to this extent. What was once blurry images were finally taking shape, and she couldn't help to feel the sense of foreboding as she pressed further into the walls and lurked down the hall.

There were a hoard of voice coming from the other side, and although she couldn't quite understand what they were saying, it was with this determination that drove her to keep going. Splaying her fingers against the wall, she continued to walk, unaware of the hellish nightmare that was about to consume her.

Hermione had dreamt of a dark room with a throne the equivalence of a macabre dream. Engrained skulls and scattered remains with flesh still attached to the ligaments lined the foot of the pedestal. Detached souls of the damned singing all around her whilst their fingers stretched and grabbed for the stoned ground. She arrived at the other end, looking at the throne through the eyes of an anonymous spirit. She could feel the trepidation coursing through their skin, flaring the very centre of her being with horror and flaming the fire that was fear. As she slowly came up to the throne, that is where she discovered them. Small wisps of shredded flesh, and the frozen expression of the man that had just been killed. She bulked, nearly throwing up whatever contents that lined her stomach in the process. While she tried to back away to escape, a figure emerged from the darkened corner of the room. Laugher soon gripped her, and she begged her captor not to harm her.

It was a futile wish.

Just as the creature stopped laughing, he inched forward and she immediately dashed out of its hold.

Hermione quickly found herself in the clutches of another tragedy. The catacombs to which taken her hostage were now becoming her tomb. In the center, a marbled replica sat. Inside, as far as she could tell through the small fissure of darkness that seeped through the crack of the tomb. Gathering her courage, she peaked inside, only to come to find the deceased remains of an unknown person, whose skull had been bashed in and what looked like a stake had been plunged through his ribcage and straight into where its heart would have been. Struggling to control the urge to vomit, she scrambled away. A soft hiss began to come from the casket.

"Blood, I smell blood." it whispered lowly, its voice coming out like a shrill of noise. "Must taste blood!"

Suddenly, the top of the tomb began to tremble. In a deafening defiance, it slowly began to peel away from the aged marble, the heavy top moving on its own accord and falling without grace to the floor in a resounding heap. It crumbled upon impact, and for a death-defying moment, Hermione held her breath, conscious of her own inability to move. Her muscles were caught in restriction, her lung void of movement, and her limbs seemingly numb from the pure shock of watching. As she stood there, stiff, a skeletal hand came from the darkness and clamped tightly against the edge of the tomb. Slowly, it rose. A half-emaciated human form with patches of skin still clinging to where bones connected to cartilage and blood still provided life to the exposed arteries. Its eyes were nothing but bottomless slits.

"Blood," it said again but with more conviction. "I smell… _BLOOD_!"

It was speaking in a language she did not know.

In a single flicker, a hand clamped around her wrist and she let out a startled scream, the noise echoing and bouncing off the walls in a grand example of deafening anger. As she tried to wrench her hand from its grip, a single reddened eye met hers and her voice was completely stolen from her. Far from wanting to die in the hands of this fallen corpse, Hermione tried with all her might to break free only to find that the thing was not looking directly into her eyes, but rather the shallow cut she sustained from an unknown injury.

She felt the blood drip down her forehead first. Following, it was its eyes that trailed down the line that the blood created.

An involuntary shiver ran through her. Cold and tenaciously obscene; she knew then that her life was in danger.

The creature reached a single boney finger out, and traced the line of blood. Then, in a sickening feeling came over her as it withdrew its hand and licked the blood from the tip of its finger.

Just as it tasted her blood, a blinding light separated them and she found herself back in the infirmary, screaming at the top of her lungs.

A clap of thunder saved the sleeping girl. Hermione sat up, huffing. Her hair was matted to her forehead as frightful eyes searched the room. She was in the infirmary, the curtains drawn around her old, unsteady bunk. The feel of the scratchy material of the comforter and the humid air was a guaranteed alignment of where she was, that she could trust her mind. The Gryffindor could still feel the prickling of where the claws had dug into that man, and where the bone last touched her skin. A startling cry was her vice. The breaths of her anxiety came and went quickly and it was only when Madam Pomfrey came to wave her wand around her vulnerable form that she could settle down and retreated the reclusive state of insomnia. The occurrence never happened again.

But, although the sleep induced charm had been casted, Hermione was still very much aware of the outside world. She settled back into the mattress and brought the worn duvet up and over her head, muffling the sobs that wracked her body.

What she saw was the most haunting thing she has ever witnessed.

The feeling of his finger touched her skin held a resounding sickness. With every pass of the memory, she had to hold herself together in fear that it could very well ruin her.

 _'I can still touch you'_

A sharp gasp fell from her lips and she sobbed even harder.

As the creature was about to touch her again, she awoke. Rain splattered against the windows. She found herself sitting up right, her heart beating wildly inside her chest as tears trickled down her cheeks. Hyperventilating from disbelief, she tried to calm herself but failed.

She had been in that same chamber, walked the very corridors that extended from its dank existence.

Hermione grappled with the idea that she had dreamt it all. There was no way that she could have been the victim of some cruel joke, and that Draco was the mastermind behind such indignity. When she woke that morning, drenched in sweat and back stiff from tossing around on the stiff mattress, she knew in her heart that what she thought happened was a figment of her imagination, and that Draco had not been the one to kill that helpless man. There was just no way.

But, the nightmare wouldn't lie to her. As always, her dreams did seem to take a haunting life of its own and find one way or another to become part of history. Nothing born from her mind was ever not tossed into reality; what she dreamed would very much be true, and she knew then she had to be careful.

For the rest of the night, she didn't dare sleep. She only laid there in deep thought until her eyes drew heavy, a unmistakable tale of being drugged by a Sleepless Drought.

It wasn't until the following morning after her episode that she was relinquish from Pomfrey's tyrant hold. She hadn't been reluctant to hand her over since she wasn't able to pinpoint exactly what had caused her to faint in the first place. Hermione was quick to alleviate her woes; she told her that it had been from all the excitement and the arrival of their foreign guests that caused her to act so unlike herself. Even though it wouldn't have been the first time she allowed such trivial things to get the better of her, Pomfrey accepted the cause and ceased her questions. She would be discharged that morning and cleared to attend her classes for the remainder of the week but under strict orders that she come back after supper every evening to receive her Potions.

As she rose, she rubbed her eyes out of habit. With a low groan, she threw the heavy comforter off her body and placed her feet onto the cold, hard floor. In that moment, Madam Pomfrey decided to make her presence known, as she was seen scurrying about at the brink of daybreak with a wooden bowl and what looked like slope meant for pigs.

"Ah, you're awake," she said a bit too cheerfully. "I prepared you some grub. Mind you, it's not the best but in this case, it'll do."

"I can't go down to the Hall and eat?" she asked warily, looking at the vomit-colored slosh with detest. If she thought she would eat that, she had another thing coming. "O-on second thought, I think I'll skip." She didn't think she could even stomach a small bowl of porridge after looking at what the Medic-witch cooked up.

"I can't allow that, dear. Not with the condition you have. Can't have you fainting on your way down. Besides, this is much better than what the elves cook up, anyway. You'll be right in no time."

Just as she was about to protest her case, Hermione tilted her head at what she said in disbelief. It was an unsettling thought, one that raced through her mind during the interim that she was held in the confines of the Infirmary. When she asked, she was met with an odd stare from the medic-witch.

"Why, of course they tend to the castle!" she exclaimed as if it was the most obvious thing. "How else can the feasts be prepared and appear out of the air as they do?

Suddenly, she felt sick.

Struggling to keep from vomiting, Hermione groped for her wand only to find that it wasn't where the most logical place for her to leave it. It must have fallen underneath the bed. Once Madam Pomfrey set the bowl down containing her breakfast and a spoon, she immediately dashed to the ground and to find her wand. Seconds from performing the charm she had mind, she came face to face with the last man she wanted to see.

"Miss. Granger," the Potion's Master drawled casually. His presence this early in the morning was striking. After all these years, she still wasn't used to the way he operated. Stealthily. Without restraint.

Quick to straighten herself, the Gryffindor stood up, bringing her wand to lay at her side. "Professor Snape." She greeted him in the same manner as he did. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wish I could say the same," a dark eyebrow rose, gauging her appearance. "How did you sleep? I suppose the comforts of your tower was missed during your stay in the infirmary?"

"Adequately," she resumed to say. "Though, you're right. It would have been better to have slept in the comforts of my own bed."

Hermione tilted her head slightly in an analytical way.

Then, she suddenly realized that she wasn't in the best of moods or pleasing for the sights. Her attire was mediocre at best. There were splotches of angry red marks peppering her skin where she must have dug her nails along with marks that she knew she couldn't have made. Dried tears trailed down her cheeks, and she became aware that she must of have screamed herself hoarse because her throat was sore and her mouth was dry. But, that wasn't the worst of it. Gods, her hair was in the worst state it's ever been in.

Hermione took a moment to bring her wand up to herself and murmur a simple cleansing charm, feeling her clothes readjust themselves and a night robe be placed over her shoulders while the knots in her hair were brushed out before looking back at her Professor, raising an eyebrow as if asking him what he was doing up so early. Albeit a school day, she was curious as to why his first instinct was to come to the infirmary.

Had he been informed of her attack?

"What are you doing here?" she asked instead. Suspicion was as calamitous a thing to feel first thing in the morning as sickness was. Which hadn't improved in the slightest.

"Professor Snape will oversee your potions, dear," the old woman said with a valiant sigh. "I asked him if he would be so kind and he readily agreed."

"Yes," the Potion's Master glanced at Madam Pomfrey before his gaze trailed back to her. "Now that you're decent, Miss Granger…" he stepped closer to her, looking at her as if trying not to frighten her. "…I'd like a moment of your time. I'm simply here to replenish your supply of potions Mr. Malfoy had been so kindly to give you on the train."

He placed a hand inside of his robe and took out three phials, all of which of varying sizes and hues. She looked at them with the upmost abhorrence of speculation.

A suddenly dark thought occurred to her.

"How do you know about that?" she asked a little too quickly, eyeing the potions with even more ire. "Draco told me that-"

"If you would be so kind to allow me to talk, I would tell you that I was the one who brewed them, not Mr. Malfoy."

"With the help of his mother," Hermione told him in a soft voice. "He told me that it would help with my… condition."

"You don't seem overly thrilled that I was the one who brewed them."

"No… I-I mean, I'm not." She stammered, momentarily caught off guard. "Anyway, I just don't accept your reasoning for helping me other than I'm a student and it would go against your morals to see me suffer, or possibly worse."

Professor Snape seemed to have taken her words to heart, for her was now looking at her in another light. "Miss. Granger, I may not want to see you harmed, Merlin forbid, die. I cannot possibly wish that on anyone, and truthfully, I am not too thrilled that I must waste valuable ingredients on you. However, once your situation was brought up, I had no other choice but to comply. I do wish that you can put your trust in someone, as they try to put their trust in you."

Hermione felt a guilty ping within the pit of her gut before the feeling was obliterated by something more profound.

And that feeling was complete distrust.

"Professor Snape… I don't know what you two are playing at, but I want to make sure you know that I will not stand for it."

"Whatever do you mean?"

Hermione licked her lips and dared to look him in the eye. "I had a nightmare. One where I was there, looking at a throne and at the feet of it a man laid dead. I don't know what it means, but I have every intention figuring it out."

After a moment of silence, Professor Snape was quick to say," Indeed, you are." Before leaving in a flurry of questioning black and forbidding gloom.

Hermione was entirely uncertain that it was a noble deed; she hardly wanted him handling her potions but didn't tell that to the poor woman who swooned over anything that paid her least bit of respect, let alone attention. Pomfrey was known to have a bit of a crush on the Potion's Master.

Despite her reluctance to let Professor Snape aid in her recovery (the thought of death was strangely reassuring and more flavorful), she agreed.

Instead of risking yet another night in the old, battered bed, Hermione chose to say nothing and happily agreed to come back later that evening. Hopefully, she would have a few choice words or she would be completely resolved to let anything slip from her mouth.

With a final goodbye, she headed out of the Hospital Wing and made it to the Great Hall just in time for Breakfast. Once she arrived, Harry had called her over and she joined her friends at the Gryffindor table.

Smiling lightly, she waved at the dark-haired wizard before slipping between him and Ron. Ginny and Neville soon joined them and they feasted upon a lovely meal of oatmeal, eggs, sausages, pumpkin juice, toast as well as a whole menu of other items that caused Hermione to bite her lip in hunger.

It was then that she remembered what Madam Pomfrey said about the House elves, and she turned around from the succulent spread. Having spent the night in the awfully cold and lonesome bed and making acquaintances with the night crawlers and nameless spirits, she was more than enthusiastic about having a nice breakfast. That was when a sudden thought occurred and ruined it for her.

She sat with her mates, her brows knitted together, her lips drawn into a detestable line. All around her, the sounds of silverware clanking together and students humming about grew into an almost unbearable reach. Hermione couldn't cast enough of _Silencios_ even if tried.

As a rebellious gloom fell over her, Hermione was able to take in the feel of the Great Hall.

A dark ambience settled around the castle. Rain pelted heavily against arriving students as they treaded from their seemingly impossibly homes down to the Great Hall after a long night of restless sleep. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who had a tough night; it seemed like the entire school had been casted

Hermione continued to stare at her plate long after the food had vanished and was replaced with an array of delectable fruit and assorted drink. No part of her wanted to partake from such a horrendous display of cruelty ever known to man, and to think that she had only just found out about the treatment of the creatures that dwelled in Hogwarts did not suffice to improve any part of her mood. She was angry and disgusted. If _this_ was how they would treat House Elves, then she didn't want any part of their abuse. Elves deserved rights and wages, even holidays. Ron didn't think so. What happened at the World Cup only glorified the fact that the Elves had no rights.

"Not eatin'?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food. He had greeted her with a muffled noise before digging right into his bowl of oatmeal and plate of sausages. If only he would learn out to keep his mouth shut.

Hermione frowned.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's wrong!"

"Dunno why you're complaining." He told her in between forkfuls of food. "They enjoy cooking and cleaning. You ought to just accept it."

"How can I accept it?" she nearly shrieked, appalled that he would even consider she would rethink her decision not to eat. Had he not learned anything after seeing the Minister treat his elf with indignity? "Have you even considered that they might be miserable, that they aren't happy with what they _are_ getting?"

"Which isn't much."

"Exactly, but that's not my point." she huffed. "You ought to be more respectable and kind, Ronald."

"Oh, I can be as kind as I like once I'm finished eating."

Hermione frowned and turned away from him.

He could be such a nasty little tart, and he knew it.

What happened at the World Cup still haunted her dreams. Much like the Chambers she visited every night, seeing the same emaciated and withered soul rise from its grave and touch her with one of its bloody fingers. With each night, it had got closer to being able to stand slightly touching her body. It was the sort of feeling that could never be erased, no matter how many time she scarified her flesh. It seemed as if it was drawing power from her, whether that was fear or pure life force, she couldn't say. All she knew was that she needed to figure it out and soon.

"Alright there, Hermione?" asked Harry, breaking the ice that formed between the two of them. He always had the knack of reading her mood.

"Been better," she eyed Ron with the upmost look of disgust before meeting Harry's gaze. "I'm just glad to be back."

"You say that like you missed something."

"I could have easily missed an entire week of schoolwork the way Madam Pomfrey went on about my illness. She even had the nerve to tell me I needed to stay another night for observation!" Hermione so desperately wanted to dig into a grapefruit but found the temptation to do so fall through the cracks. Even the goop that Madam Pomfrey prepared for her sounded more appetizing than eating something an elf cooked up. At least she knew she was getting wages. "Fortunately, it was just a minor attack."

"Couldn't have been that minor if it got Snape involved." The boy murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't remember?"

She shook her head.

Hermione couldn't say she remembered anything of importance. Everything up until that morning was a blur. What she did remember, however, was miniscule according to what Harry so graciously provided. Apparently, Snape had found her and brought her to the infirmary where her a new level of her illness was revealed. There was a deep part of her that was so desperate for her to remember that it resorted to begging. Though a low blow, Hermione couldn't fully bring herself to such lengths. It was entirely beneath her

When Harry finished, she stared at him, too lost for words.

"Why would he do that?" she asked, flabbergasted by their Professor's reaction to her attack.

Hermione's heart made an absent thump against her ribs.

"Dunno," Harry admitted, defeated. Ron made a sound of disgust before pushing his plate away and narrowing his eyes.

"Right git," he murmured before taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "Acting all heroic because he found you unconscious. If it hadn't been for Draco calling out for him, you wouldn't have made it to the infirmary."

A curious drone ran through her.

"Whatever the reason, it's done now," shrugged Harry nonchalantly. It was clear he was thinking over something in his head and didn't want her to know. "The only thing that I don't get is what were you doing with him, Hermione."

"We were just talking."

"About?"

Hermione frowned, trying to remember.

If memory served her well, they were walking down a corridor. Having been caught in the whirlwind of the rush hour, they were walking the corridors against the wave of students and were conversing about something, and then quite sudden she felt dizzy. Fearing that she was on the edge of yet another episode, she had taken a staggering step back. Or, that is what her memories served to her. Draco had asked her how she was that day. The conversed while they walked and they soon found themselves by a wide window, as tall as the wall and as wide as the corridor. She had told him that she was fine and he was resigned to suggest that he put more trust in Snape, for he was the one aiding in her survival. A part of Hermione desperately wanted to know why Draco trusted him so much, even after everything he's done to ruin their school experience and disown them for wanting to know the truth.

But, that was the thing.

She couldn't trust someone who had been the one in the Chambers the night it was opened.

With a sudden thought, her inner turmoil drew to the what Harry had said earlier.

It was true she couldn't remember every detail about what happened before she fainted. All she could recall was talking to Draco, which had been a strained affair and one filled with intensity leaning on great proportions.

Somewhere in her mind she registered being helped by Draco, her eyesight falling blurry before she was able to regain some attainable hold. Then the pounding in her chest began, an indication to be careful.

 _"I must ask you…" he began slowly, unsure. "What do you see during these episodes?"_

She could hear his voice now, and feel the exact emotions that ran through her, plaguing her with the same sense of fright she had felt before the incident.

A curious expression fell over his features, to which she knew she marked with uncertainty. She hadn't realized it then, but Draco was hiding behind the façade of callowness. In all the years she's known him, she's never once thought of the boy who came up to here after the sorting her first year, greeting himself with a warm smile and the flattering welcome and kiss that fell upon her palm. As it did then, her heart skipped a beat. Not in the usual way that one's heart palpated when anxious or reached with the highest stature of stress, but in the way that a beautiful boy came to her like a dream and worshipped her with kindness and friendship. Any eleven-year-old girl's dream, she supposed. If she had known what she knew now, any relationship with him might not have been possible.

Hermione felt her blood sting in her veins. Appalling pictures bridged over her mind. Draco triggered something in her, and as she hesitated to tell him, she could feel the claws that always marred her skin while asleep crawl from the depths of hell from whence it resided.

 _"Awful things,"_ she remembered telling him, the same awful feeling befalling her. She wanted to tell him what she dreamt of, what kept her from getting a decent amount of sleep at night and what tortured her during the day, but she couldn't.

A look of acrimony swept over his face. This anger befuddled her.

He then asked her if she had spoken to Snape about the incidents. She told him she hadn't.

Why he insisted she speak to him was beyond her.

Hermione had little to no trust in the man.

…And, it remained.

 _"Have you spoken to Snape at all since the end of last term?"_

 _"No," she bit out._

Their conversation suddenly grew dark and before she knew it, she was pressed against the window and Draco was forcibly kissing her with all the bent-up energy. As their exchange intensified, the pain inside her chest grew and before she knew it she couldn't bear it anymore. She was eternally thankful when he abruptly broke the kiss and looked at her. His eyes shined a million degrees of fiery iridescent sulfur.

Before she knew it, she fainted. And she couldn't remember a damn thing before the kiss or recollect what happened after.

"Must have been all the excitement, then," she lied.

"A little too much if you ask me."

She looked at him and shrugged, finding the entire situation a bit more discerning than it ought to have been. Opting to rummage through her satchel, Hermione found the perfect excuse to hide from his prying eyes. She just didn't want to have to recall anything she had buried beneath her guise. Being difficult to understand, much less accept as it was, everything that's happened was causing more harm than good and she only wished to receive some peace. Finding comfort in reading, she pulled out her favorite textbook and opened it to the first page. She had every intention of reading. That is, until the mail arrived. In a flurry of wintery white, Hedwig came flying over their heads, and a single envelope fell into Harry's lap. The air was heavy with the suggestion to the answers to their questions.

Hurriedly, Harry tore through the seal and read the letter carefully. Hermione waited impatiently for him to finish, wanting to grab the letter and read it for herself. There was a burning itch that plagued her. Even Ron had stopped eating long enough for him to tilt his head expectantly. Once he finished, Harry looked at them through the lens of his glasses and brushed it back up against the flush of his nose.

"Sirius." He told him hesitantly before looking around. "Remember when I told you about my forehead burning?"

They nodded, though Hermione held onto the look of annoyance when he regaled them of the tale of his forehead burning all summer long. It only escalated the day they arrived on location of the World Cup, and became unbearable after the attacks.

Sirius Black had been rescued from execution just last year and given temporary leave. Far from being the free man that Harry knew him to be, he was currently fleeing from authority and spending a great amount of time scavenging the forests with Buckbeak at his side. Recently, he has sent an exotic creature of the tropics. That was the closest indication that meant that he was safe and sound. After what happened at the World Cup, security has increased tenfold. It reminded them of last year when Sirius had broken out of Azkaban, whom they believed to be a madman only to come to find out that his closest childhood friend had killed Harry's parents and Sirius was wrongly accused. The Ministry doesn't see that, despite Peter Pettigrew being caught and held prisoner at Azkaban as they speak.

Harry was quiet for several minutes. Just when she was about to ask, Hermione was met with cloudy green eyes, a sign that something was terribly concerning and she took the warning to heart.

"Well, I think he's told me something that you might want to read, Hermione." His voice was tight.

What his godfather could have possibly said was beyond her.

He handed her the letter and she set to work.

"What did he say?" asked Ron, trying to look over Hermione's shoulder so he could read. They two of them looked over the letter in complete silence before Harry spoke up.

"He thinks it's a warning." He told them. "I mean, it's happened before. It means danger is near.".

"What kind of danger could it be?" Ron asked, frightened though his voice held some strength. "Hogwarts is the safest place on earth."

Hermione read the letter not once but three times before she was able to ascertain the full grandeur of the situation. It had been at the beginning of the summer when everything she has come to know came crashing down on her. And it began innocently enough with Harry, whom confided in them that his scar, something he sustained at birth, was causing him some discomforting pain. Little is known about the origins of how he got the scar, though, if they were really to think about it, the start of it wasn't that all entertaining. A tragedy had struck the young boy, and he was given to a family that didn't care for nor wanted him. He hadn't dare tell him about his scar, not that they would have cared, anyway.

"It was said that once before." Harry pushed his glasses up again and looked at the letter. Hermione was still trying to decipher its meaning.

"Can't be all that great if it's happened before."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," she hissed, as if it was obvious. "Do you two read? It was in-"

"-Hogwarts, A History." They sufficed to say. "What of it?"

"If you would let me finish," she huffed, handing the letter back to Harry. Once it was secured inside its envelope, he stashed it inside of his robes, she spoke again." I would tell you that this has happened before. What happened during second year with the Chamber of Secrets. You saw for yourself. The tomb. It was empty."

"Don't forget the diary, Harry."

"I _know_." He enunciated angrily. "It's what Sirius said that doesn't make any sense."

The three of them poured over the little-known facts that they had been able to uncover during their second year. The chamber beneath the school had been in the news in the recent years. The rumors were that Dumbledore was hiding cursed artifacts and keeping a secret from the ministry that would no doubt end all humanity. It sounded like a load of rubbage, but when they did their own investigation (much to Hermione's help and Harry's strange connections), they were able to get down into the chambers and see for themselves what was lurking down in the catacomb.

All these years they thought that something horrible was lurking within the chambers underneath the school. Having found Fluffy during their first year and uncovering the Philosopher's Stone, to finding the Chamber of Secrets during their second, they were thoroughly convinced that something, or someone, was trying to resurrect whatever dwelled within its depths.

Harry looked between the two and finally stated," I think it's time to look in the restricted section again." He said it as if it was the most logical thing to do. It had always been their source of knowledge aside from Hermione. She looked at him as if he had said something so insane that she couldn't believe her ears.

"Harry, we can't!" Hermione cried, her voice a low whisper. "You know we almost got caught by Snape last time we tried."

"Don't forget brewing the Polyjuice potion." Ron pointed out. "Snape hasn't let his guard down about his supplies since."

It was clear that he was growing agitated by the way his forehead scrunched up and his chin wrinkled from the sheer excursion of keeping calm.

Hermione was the first to speak. "Look, Harry. Whatever we saw there was just… we can't really say what we saw, now can we?"

"Are you suggesting that we forget what was in the Chambers?" he shook his head in disbelief. "You can't just brush off what we saw. With Basilisk dead and the tomb opened-"

"-Now, we never said it had been!"

"It was," he hissed, continuing. "You saw it yourself, Hermione. He had been cursed by something, and I'm going to figure out what it was."

She couldn't deny it no matter how much she wanted to. Hermione _had_ seen the snake's carcass; the way it had been scored from the inside out, as if the fire had been ignited from within, the boned burned beyond recognition and the flesh melted off the body and pooled around what remained in a disgusting puddle. A soft ambience of green had still been casted around the corpse, almost by a fresh cast.

From the gruesome recollection, a myriad of images emerged.

Draco had asked an awful lot of questions during those times, and all she could do was lie to him about being in the Chambers or roaming the corridors late at night under the veil of the Invisibility Cloak. It hurt her greatly to be so deceiving, but he hasn't been entirely innocent and truthful, either.

"I need your help, 'Mione." Harry said eventually, the look of pure indignation crossing over his features. "If Sirius can read the signs, I'm sure Dumbledore already has."

"What signs are you talking about?"

"I know about your nightmares, Hermione." He said, his voice low and strict. "Hell, I'm starting to have them too."

She gulped audibly and licked her lips.

Well, if he put it that way. She felt obligated right then and there to lend any help that she could offer.

"Harry… whatever you saw," she started, the words coming forth before she could stop them. "I want you to forget them."

"What?" he hissed, shocked.

In the throes of answering, the double doors to the Great Hall swung open and in stepped the Slytherin heir as seen in her dreams and darkest nightmares.

He looked ageless. Like a redefined piece of diamond that's been remolded into a more beautiful, stunning shape, Draco walked into the Hall with his hands in his pockets and blank expression on his face. With an air of arrogance that's always been there, he marched toward the Slytherin table, not bothering to look anywhere other than his crowned seat.

Hermione watched him carefully, taking notice of the dark circles under his eyes. From where she sat, no one would be able to notice that he hadn't slept or that he was more languid than usual. Only she could take notice of it, and that's what concerned her the most.

A flowering of fear spread from the center of her chest and outward. With a little inaudible gasp, she touched her breast and lifted her gaze, meeting Draco's. A painful expression replaced the one that he had moment's ago. He looked as if he was holding back, and she was going to allow it.

When she turned back, Harry's eyes had glossed over with a formidable layer of ice.

It was clear to him where her alliance lay and that was all he needed to know.

Hermione couldn't let go of the way that he looked at her. The deep-seated rage that lay hidden behind the cold serenity that was his eyes was enough to grant her the expendable shame brought on by betrayal. When the bell sounded and everyone rose to go to their first lesson of the day, she sat there for a moment, completely lost in thought as she tried to figure out where her alliance really was and why she had laid up such a poor representation of her friendship with him.

The moment he turned back to back up his belongings, too sickened to even acknowledge her, her heart skipped a beat. Not in the traditional sense that she was betraying her feelings with some unconvincing notion of romance, but with the unadulterated belief that what she was doing was wrong.

She knew he was only trying to figure out what happened that night. They all would like to know. As guilt ate away at her stomach and the urge to drop everything and simply forget about it dissipated, she turned and looked at him without saying a single word. But, the treachery was already set. Just as quickly, his eyes darkened and she knew that somewhere deep down inside her, she was trying to do the honorable thing. If only the rest of her body would register it.

If only Harry could see the struggle of fighting for both sides.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I am so terribly sorry for making y'all wait for this update. A lot has happened this year. To keep it simple: I finished school, I'm about to graduate, my brother got engaged (Which, by this point I don't think it's going to fall through. My "sister-in-law" is a crazy bitch and my brother deserves so much better), and I'm looking to get promoted at work (I hope!). I want to thank each and every one of you who favorited and followed this work over the last, what, year? I promise that from here on out there will be smooth sailing. :) Girl Scout's Honor!

Update: I added additional 300 words or so to allow the chapter to flow nicely. I still haven't been able to edit the chapter. The next chapter will be about what happened at the world cup. Y'all may be waiting just a bit longer for it, but at least there will be two updates instead of one :)

 **Story Note:** Harry's parents are dead in this work. Every event that has happened up until now corresponds with the events that took place through the first four books. I will state otherwise if anything is different or created in such a way that it draws away from the original timeline. Which will be quite soon. Anything regarding horcruxes and Lord Voldemort will obviously be addressed as the work is picked up and continued. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter! It was one hell of a chapter to write :(

If anyone is wondering about Ron's role in this fic, don't fright! I promise that he'll have a role!

Even after such a long hiatus, I'm extremely pleased how this work is moving and working towards. Let me know what you think, yes?

-Carolare Scarletus

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 **Facts to take into consideration:**

 **-Ginny did not open the Chamber of Secrets, though Tom Riddle's diary (in this fic, the owner is completely unknown) compelled Harry to obsess over the Chambers- What occurred during the original work, Riddle showed Harry what happened and who supposedly opened it. The diary did the same thing, though, it is not Tom who Harry sees within the memory.**

 **-While exploring the Chambers, the Trio stumble over where** **Basilisk was found dead of an unknown accord. Along with the corpse, a tomb of equally unknown origins was found sealed with powerful magic that the Trio became disoriented and found later by the Head of Houses.**

 **-The person they see in the Chamber they assumed was Snape.**

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 **Additional Notes:** The Chamber of Secrets was created under the Dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during Medieval times by Salazar Slytherin, whose morals went against that of the other Hogwarts Founders and were based on the merits of Blood Purity.

Salazar Slytherin disagreed with the other Hogwarts founders about the importance of Blood Purity and the acceptance of Muggle-borns at Hogwarts. As the other Founders were against him in this matter, Slytherin left the school. According to legend, before he left, Slytherin created a secret chamber deep underground in Hogwarts Castle. The Chamber of Secrets was home to an ancient Basilisk, which, according to legend, was intended to be used to purge the area of Muggle-born students and was bordered with towering pillars that were entwined with carved wood, and the Statue of Slytherin was at the far end. The Basilisk resided within the mouth of Slytherin's Statue, which possibly symbolized Slytherin's ability to speak Parseltongue. Sometime before 1992, the chamber flooded.

There was sign that the Chamber had been opened more than once between its creation and the 20th Century. When it was first created, the Chamber was accessed through a concealed trapdoor and a series of magical tunnels. However, when Hogwarts' plumbing became more elaborate in the 18th Century, the entrance to the Chamber was threatened, and was located on the site of a Proposed Bathroom. The presence in school at the time of a student called Corvinus Gaunt — who was a direct descendant of Slytherin —explained how the simple trapdoor was secretly protected, so that those who knew how could still access the entrance to the Chamber even after the newfangled plumbing had been placed on top of it.

The Chamber was opened during the 1942-1943 school year by a sixteen-year-old teenager by the name of Tom Riddle, later known as Lord Voldemort. Through Merope Gaunt, his mother, and a Witch, Riddle was the last remaining direct descendant of Slytherin, and he desired to see Muggle-borns driven from Hogwarts. In his Fifth year, Riddle located the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets during his research on his heritage, and could control the Basilisk as he was the Heir of Slytherin. Riddle turned the Basilisk loose on the school and injured many.

The last victim was a student named Myrtle Warren, who was killed in the Girls' Bathroom. Hogwarts was due to be closed, which upset Riddle, who did not want to return to the Muggle Orphanage in which he was raised. He framed Rubeus Hagrid, who had concealed a pet Acromantula named Aragog. Riddle convinced the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, that Aragog was the monster that had terrorized the school. Hagrid was wrongfully expelled, and Riddle received an engraved Trophy for Special Services to the School.

Tom Riddle splitting his soul for the first time at the age of sixteen after the murder of Myrtle, thus the diary.

Albus Dumbledore, then Transfiguration Professor, distrusted Riddle and kept a close watch on him after that. As it was no longer safe to open the Chamber of Secrets, Riddle, not wanting his research to be for naught, created a Diary in which to preserve his sixteen-year-old self and hoped it would one day lead someone to finish Salazar Slytherin's "noble quest."

Once in the Chamber, Harry meets the memory of Tom Riddle, which was preserved in the diary. A near-dead Ginny lay nearby, whose life force was slowly being drained. Riddle fed on Ginny's energy, later revealing that he was, in fact, Lord Voldemort (rearranging the letters of his name from _"Tom Marvolo Riddle"_ to _"I am Lord Voldemort"_ ) and then summoned the Basilisk. Harry, after he knew that eye contact with the Basilisk would be fatal, ran from it, and was helped by the arrival of Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix who clawed the Basilisk's eyes out.

 **All information is taken/found on the Harry Potter Wikia page.**


	9. Letum Levo

**_A/n down below_**

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Encomium Ombre

Chapter Eight

Letum Levo

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.¸¸.

'tis in the shadows,

Where I lurk

.¸¸.

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 **Wednesday September 7th - Thursday September 8th, 1994**

Hermione continued to ignore the strange shadow that followed her everywhere. As the week slowly progressed, she found herself more inclined to believe that this phenomenon wasn't a phantom trick on her mind, but an actual progress of her illness. The muscles in her body were weakened, barely flexible beneath her skin. With each step, she felt herself fall deeper into the pit and soon she would discover that, if she kept going as she was, she wouldn't be able to find a way out. The irregular palpitations of her heart were the least of her problems, now. It was utter torture. Eyes that never stopped watching her, voices that never ceased- she didn't know what she hated the most. One thing was for sure, she had to find out what was going on before the potential of the deity grew. In one single move, it could easily be her downfall.

The Great Hall held a peculiar sense of approbation as the Goblet was set up in the middle of the atrium. As they settled themselves into breakfast that morning, the post arriving at the same time it normally did, and despite the residual rain from last week, the outlook of the impending tournament was sending a heavy ovation to sweep through the ranks of the castle as more of their foreign visitors arrived. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had at least thirty more students join the few that had made an appearance the night of their arrival with the gorgeous dance of their land and schools. The only thing that was going through Hermione's mind was the amount of effort that was being put into the tournament and the danger that might ignite from its depths.

She slowly made her way down the aisle, sat down at the table, and took out her belongings. Although it was the early hours of the morning and her first class wouldn't start for another hour, she found solace in the fact that nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Hermione had a difficult time concentrating on reading, though. She had unknowingly taken up sitting with Neville and Seamus to alleviate some of the strain between Harry and Ron. From across the table, she could feel Ron's eyes secretly search for hers. She only tucked herself into her small seat and continued to read.

Just down the aisle sat the Goblet of Fire, and a shiver ran through her. Nothing about it made any sense, and she supposed it wouldn't until she allowed herself to get to the bottom of it.

Like a prediction out of a soothsayer's mouth the nightmares and weather persisted well into the following days. Hermione felt the effects of lack of sleep, the embodying discourse accompanied by delirium, and was only compounded when she had to visit Madam Pomfrey after supper every day and the uncomfortable atmosphere embedded in the very structure of the walls. It didn't help that she had to frequently be in the presence of the most untrustworthy man. A kind of foreboding came forth every time she ventured down the corridors; the portraits themselves seemed to accept this sort of the damning evidence that something was astray, though none of them wished to whisper in treachery. Hermione knew she didn't have any right to be there. The sense of hopelessness washed over before she had the chance to make it down the corridor and toward the entrance to the dungeons. The air was always heavy and dank; there was a completely sense of unfaithfulness as she trespassed into their territory. As she crept, Hermione began hyper-aware that someone, or something, was watching her. She couldn't pinpoint the exact cause, but chose to ignore it as she stealthily made her way down the corridor and into the darkness.

The feeling stuck with her. And, once again, what lurked in the shadows was the least of her problems. The only sufficient comfort she had was the morning. She found herself lying awake during the night, pondering the mass chaos.

"Snape's at it again," came the ring of Fred and George's unique inquiry as they busied themselves with yet another homemade collection of sorts. They strutted toward the Gryffindor table carrying what looked like a makeshift suitcase. "Had the entire class practice non-verbals until one couldn't take it and blurted out a Confundus Charm. Sent poor Alicia Spinnet to the Hospital Wing."

"Any idea why he's in such a foul mood?" asked Harry, eyeing him with a gleam in his eye.

Fred shrugged," Suppose it has to do something with Professor Moody. Snape's been hankering for the position for the Defensive Against the Dark Arts now and this is another year he hasn't gotten it. Anyway, enough about that. Georgie, come and help me with these." He gestured to one of the drawers.

As the two of them sat down at the other side of them, Hermione's attention was drawn upward. As usual, a swarm of owls came swooping in, delivering the mail to the respective students before going on their way.

The Gryffindor's have yet to have their lesson with Mad Eye Moody, formally known as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. No one knows exactly the curse had been placed to the subject; many speculated that it had been placed years ago by someone who had so desperately wanted to teach it that Dumbledore had no choice but to decline his inquest.

It was a rumor, one that hadn't necessarily been resolved, as it still circulated like a bad joke amongst the students. Something that Hermione didn't take without warning, either.

She scoffed out loud, gaining the attention of the twins.

"Oh, come on, Granger," Fred said, swinging into the seat next to her as his twin took her left. "It's just a game."

"A game that could potentially kill you," she retorted slyly. She could see the determination in their eyes and it made her wonder briefly what they could be up to. One was dangerous, but two? Who knows the sort of harm the two of them could do. They were known to have done some nasty, albeit, impressive things in their youth. Though, exploding the girl's lavatories was far from their expertise. This year would be no different, seeing as they spent all summer locked up in their room, explosives going off every ten minutes and the wail of the gnomes becoming a normal sound among the hills. Hermione had her suspicions, which were correct, of course. It was a matter of time before they started selling whatever they were perfecting under the cloak of the night and she did not want to be any part of it. "Besides, you have to be seventeen to enter. Last I checked-"

"-Last _we_ checked, we _know_." chuckled George as Fred grinned. "What we can't seem to figure out is why it concerns you?"

"Thinking about putting your name in the Goblet, ol'Mione?"

The book she had been reading slammed to a shut and she gripped it between her hands. "No." Her voice was sharp. "My concern is that people have died in this tournament and I want to know why they have the audacity to even allow it to happen, especially after what happened at the World Cup."

"Still on about that, then?" Fred said, his demeanor changing drastically with the approach of another topic. His eyes sliced through her, and she wondered quickly if he was looking at his twin brother. A weird feeling ran through her, confirming the badly placed joke that instantly turned sour in her mouth. "Look, whatever happened at the World Cup isn't your fault."

"I'm not saying it is…"

"Then, why go on about it?"

"It's just odd," she told him finally before she shook her head. The World Cup had since been a topic that, no matter what she did, wouldn't get off her mind. Ever since the dispute with Harry and walking through the corridors, seeing the hate that settled in his eyes and Ron's equally cold shoulder, she couldn't help letting her mind wander.

It wasn't that she didn't want to figure out what happened, it's just that she could bring herself to reach further into what happened without risking her own sanity, having been afflicted with paralyzing nightmares and even more chilling spells. The potions worked only for a time; the long-term effects were what frightened her the most.

"Nothing odd about wanting to express unity amongst the communities with a good tournament." George said with a deliciously suggestive grin.

"That's why we need to get in on it."

"What are you two planning?" she asked incredulously, looking at each twin with suspicion. A clever twinkle blossomed from one set of eyes and jumped to the other without so much as a single word as they stood up. A chuckle issued from each other their mouths. She looked to the suitcase in suspicion.

"Never you mind, Granger," grinned George as they both stood and made their way towards the other end of the tables. "We have an ace up our sleeves."

Hermione watched them with perplexity, having never witnessed such a disturbing sight as them laughing with perfect harmony. An unsettling little noise, but even more telling. Of course, Fred and George were planning something. It was clear as day, and Hermione didn't like it one bit. She came down the morning for breakfast not wanting to speak to no one and the message was clearly received. Taking a spot where normally wouldn't sit, finding her presence a little too uninvited elsewhere, she reached over the table unconsciously and loaded up her plate with fruit and toast and her mind was set in a whirling chaotic storm. That is until the twins decided to grace her with their presence.

"Don't pay them no mind," Ginny said with a smile. She slipped into the seat in front of her and sighed. "They've been going on about the tournament for days now. I suppose they've already found some way to enter it."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Hermione mumbled. "I don't suppose that's why we've been hearing all those noises coming from their bedroom all summer?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. Either way, it can't be good." Then, she paused. "How's Draco?" she asked curiously. "I suspect he's looking to enter the tournament. He's of age, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Not speaking to the infamous Slytherin Prince?" she teased with a giggle.

"We've… had a disagreement." Hermione lied.

Granted, it couldn't be anything further from the truth. Her grandmother always used to say that if she couldn't speak the truth, then she had no business speaking at all. She knew that Ginny was smart enough not to enquire about it. Instead, she flashed her attention toward the table at the opposite end of the Great Hall. There, among the masses, was Draco. It would have been a third day in a row he failed to show up for a meal, and Hermione was seriously beginning to speculate where he went during his absence.

She was aware that he liked to travel. For the Head Boy, she supposed his job required a lot of travelling. Where, she could not say.

"That doesn't stop him from looking, does it?" Ginny asked, glancing at the Slytherin in a not-so-secret manner. Hermione resisted the urge to look up; she already knew he was watching her. If the icy sensation was any indication, that is. "He's not the only one staring, you know. Take a look."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked before capturing her gaze and looking across the hall.

There, she saw Krum. His piercing eyes couldn't seem to break the incredible hold they had on her. Hermione's breath hitched as she fell. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's seen those eyes. Be it in a dream, or some inexplicable moment in time. The Bulgarian had made a remarkable impression upon the students of Hogwarts; it wasn't every day that their castle was housing one of the most famous Quidditch players, and it didn't seem to deter anyone from walking in his shadow. What she couldn't understand was his obsession, and what it had to do with her.

The sound of rustling feathers filled the large, empty expanse of the Hall. A hundred owls swopped in, dropping packages and letters in a stormy array of grey and white. Had it been actual rain, it would've scorched Hermione's skin. As soon as one swooped down and delivered its package, Ginny snatched it up and began reading it. In the meantime, Hermione looked at Draco, finding that he received something in the mail, as well. He stood quickly, though he managed to make the quick movement look elegant as he excused himself from the table. She watched until his body disappeared through the double doors of the Hall.

Her thoughts betrayed her faster than she expected. She wondered what caused him to race toward the double doors, and leave without so much as a word to anyone in his House. Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini stood some time after that, exchanging only looks of secrecy before leaving as well.

 _Weird_ , she thought. The doors swung to a close clicked softly behind their bodies. What could've caused them to leave in such a hurry? Biting her lip, her thoughts escaped her, but before she could even move and act upon her intuition, a voice disrupted her thoughts.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice pulled her from her reverie, and she quickly looked to see what she wanted. "You might want to read this." She shoved the issue of the _Prophet_ toward her.

Hermione pulled it closer to her and read quietly to herself.

 ** _A dark, Uninvited Deity Present at World Cup._**

 ** _What does it mean for the Wizarding World?_**

 _A dark cloak of emerald has been casted over the pillaged fields. The tear-stained faces of children are still visibly fresh inside of our minds. If this isn't the face of evil, the Minister of Magic doesn't know what is._

 _What was supposed to be an exciting end to a long Quidditch season, turned into an episode of great hysteria and terror. Shortly after midnight, after the Irish won the World Cup, cloaked figure appeared and began setting the campsite literally on fire. No space wasn't turned upside down, and it soon became clear that whatever the missionaries were looking for had to be somewhere hidden within plain sight. They raided and pillaged the campsite until nothing was left. And, then it appeared, the insignia of the Dark Times. A hideous reminder of what the world used to be appeared above the site, illuminating the skies in a halo of sparkling emerald. No one knows for sure who these individuals are, but they cannot be good if their insignia is that of the Dark Lord._

 ** _For more, turn to page 27._**

Hermione stared at the image of the coiling snake as it flashed before her in a swirl of dull colors. fingertips traced the outline of the skull and the tongue of the snake before stopping in remembrance. They had stood just below the cast. She still remembered how the surrounding clouds, for a short second, lit up all around and the image began animated.

"Hermione?"

"I've seen this before," she whispered finally, looking at Ginny. Hermione bit her lip, reeling her hand back as it had bitten her. "I dreamt of it. It was one of the things we saw down in the Chamber…"

Hermione knew that the Chambers was a sensitive subject for Ginny. She had been the one that was given the blasted diary that triggered Harry's obsession over it in the first place. Quickly, she shot a worried look in the red-head's direction, reading her expression for any signs of distress. Although she looked relatively compliant at the moment, she knew that anything, just as her episodes with her heart, could trigger an unwanted memory to emerge from the depths of her recovery. Her family still hadn't forgiven Lucius Malfoy for planting the diary in her possession.

A lot has happened in the past few years that Hermione couldn't begin to imagine that Draco had any affiliation with any of the disturbances. He's always been a secretive boy, but it wouldn't surprise her in the slightest if he decided that he needed to keep things from her. Since rousing his curiosity during her first year, befriending him, and getting to know him as not only as a person, but a passionate and aspiring collector of knowledge, she's come to know two truths. One, there was always more to the face of her allies than meets the eye. And, two, Draco was a perfect liar. He's never the one to state plainly what he meant, Hermione's learned how to sort through the massive catalogue that was his thoughts.

 _You can die a thousand times, but the memory of it could never fade._

Hermione would never forget the first time she heard these words; it had been during one of those rare moments of solitude that the words appeared before her, a string of almost misconstrued meaning. Draco had been the one to utter them, forcing her to find the plausible meaning behind the disturbing words. It wasn't until later that day that she came to him, and presented him with her answer.

Abruptly, she was pulled from her thoughts. She looked at Ginny once more, finding that she hadn't fallen off her pedestal quite yet, and decided that talking about the Chambers would be best pushed to another date.

"I'm sorry…" she told her. "I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," Ginny said, nodding. "I know you didn't mean it. It's in the past now, yes? But, do you think he's connected to what happened at the World Cup?"

Hermione shook her head. "No."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Draco wouldn't be capable of doing this." Hermione held onto every bit of belief that she had. There was just no way Draco could be a culprit in all this mess. Or, could he? "He might have a lot of secrets, but this wouldn't be something he'd hide from me."

"If you say so." Ginny said softly, folding up the article and pushing it away from them. "Though, Hermione? I'd be careful. I know you care for Malfoy, I just don't want you getting hurt."

Hermione looked up and nodded. Though, in her heart she knew her words to be true, they still stung. How could she not trust Draco after all he has done for her?

The first time Hermione saw the insignia was when she stumbled upon an ancient book while browsing the Restricted Section of the library her first year. It had been under the guise of night, and when she pulled out the aged tome, she could scarcely make out the intricate design of a skull and a snake protruding out of its mouth like an elongated tongue. The emerald guise and stars seemed to glitter maliciously in the sky while the cries of the crowd grew louder. As she stared out the window, she found herself once again in the clutches of mass confusion and chaos. She didn't know how long she sat there, the rain splattering against the windows and the lightening blurring its glorious light right in front of her face. If it hadn't been for the memorial of the mermaid in front of her when she looked ahead, Hermione would've surely perished.

* * *

Absolutely nothing could have prepared them. Professor Moody's dark humored taste had already been embellished in the tapestry of the walls. There was no source of light emanating from the darkened classroom. The curtains were drawn shut, the room finding a deathly resemblance to that of a graveyard. The only light came from the haphazardly lit candle strung around the room. The air held a kind of embarking crossing that as the students piled in, they had to make sure that they hadn't been tricked by the staircase and somehow been transported to the dungeons. The appeal was just that convincing. As daunting as it was to know that their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had finally gotten the title that he had been yearning for since he arrived they couldn't let the threat of what the wizard could provoke get to them. They were united, and they were going to fight as an army.

They walked in tight, coordinated pairs, their eyes drawn to the oddities that graced them with their benevolent sight. Glassed specimens of hands and eyeballs adorned the dusty bookshelves. Here and there, as they passed, they found figurative reminders of days old; dust covered portraits paid respect to their lives, depicting some fable forgotten to man. There was a kind of mutated rodent in one of the glass containers, its face squished and its teeth having been broken sometime in the process of being delivered to the new abode. Tightly coiled skin given from a donor of unknown lineage was strung around two pillars that now sat at the front of the room like tinsel. A decorative reminder of the depth of their Professor's obscured tastes.

All around them they could smell the decay. The air was dank and heavy with the foul scent of upturned earth. It clung to the walls like a lifeline. Pouring from the walls looked like lines of blood. The stripes of soldiers and restless souls remained a crime scene upon the putrid surface. Once pristine in the minds of the students, the walls reminded them of a time of academic enjoyment, a careful world in which molded what their minds were today. Yet, it remained a curse. The subject had been devoid of all purity and they all wished that their DADA Master would meet the same grimly end as all the others that fell before him. Though, they could only hope.

Hermione looked at his two best friends and watched the light banter that passed between them. Hermione had the natural ability to hide what was bothering her. Unlike them, she was prone to speak her mind but not without a cost. Hermione pretended that nothing was bothering him. She knew very well that everything that has happened thus far was eating her up on the inside, and it was time's kindness that was keeping her from completely fading. As they shuffled inside the classroom, owning up to the whispers from the younger students, her façade continued to build. But, like all things, it was destined to fall. Her mind raced. For the strangest reason, her skepticism was getting the best of her. Her heart raced, thrummed against her ribcage and she winced. It felt like a thousand knives burning against her skin all at once; it was a horrendous feeling. Mad with lustful insecurity, Hermione sat behind them. She was falling fast. And, the delighted sensation was all too inviting. Right now, she could not be tempted by the call.

Just as they settled themselves into their seats, the door to the classroom swung open and a deformed-looking man came wobbling in. His cane pierced the floor so loudly that a residual _ping_ reverberated from the line in which he walked.

"Books away," he told him gruffly as he stopped in front of the chalkboard and began writing. He paraded down the aisle, flicking his wand and demanding the candle to be set alight. The stage was set and as he presented himself in the awful way that they weren't fond of, Moody turned around to face them just as he finished his sentence. His eyes racked over them to see if anyone dared to disobey him.

"I hope there hasn't been too much disruption during my absence." He said, drawing each word out slowly. Moody looked around the room, almost hoping someone would utter a word. "It seems that I have misspoken. In any instance, I assure you that any disobedience will be dealt with. I will not tolerate any disrespect and hindrance in this class during our lesson and any lesson that precede it."

What sounded like a groan of displeasure was shared between those of his audience. The students that sat around Harry had shared something between them and were now snickering amongst themselves, unaware of their Professor's penetrating gaze. His eyes swept over to them, which caught Hermione's and they shared a moment of their own. The only difference was that there was nothing amusing about what they were sharing; it was a highly intimate matter, one that neither of them would soon forget.

Hermione wasn't aware of what true courage was. Though, she had the faintest idea. She couldn't say she lived through anything traumatic, Harry's own heartbreaking backstory coming to mind as she thought. He had every right to be skeptical, though, so was she.

Who wouldn't when his Professor spent every waking moment during the brief interim of introduction prying into their minds, discovering the private moments only meant for his eyes and deriding not only her but everyone else as well? In return for his prying, she turned the table and invaded his mind, seeking out evidence of his so-called abuse. Hermione discovered several things in that short burst of insight. He was the sort of apparition she saw in her dreams; clothed in mystery, and abnormal. She continued to watch him as he called through the roister, stopping to look at each student to imprint their image into his mind. His magical eye swirled, and when her name was called, it lingered over her form several seconds longer than normal. It was an unspoken bond of repayment. She had stared at him, and he gave her the promise that he was going to watch over her. Not his flesh and blood, but the man who turned her world upside down and made her the object of his desired teasing. Anyone would hold a grudge; Moody was no different.

"Alastor Moody. Ex-Auror. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of the story." There was almost an intuitive gesture of a farewell engraved in the Professor's name as he began to spell out his name on the chalkboard with an old, overused piece of white chalk. The noise of it was akin to a million nails scratching upon the surface of a brand-new piano whose keys hadn't been properly christened.

Professor Moody dropped the piece of chalk and began pacing jaggedly in front of the row of desks. His mechanical eyes whirled around, retreating to the back of his head until the whites of the eyes were they only thing they saw. This gruesome act caused a sot murmur of disgust to weave through the classroom.

"I understand Professor Lupin taught you about Dark Creatures- Boggarts, Red Caps, and Werewolves." A beat of general consent. "But, you are dreadfully behind on dealing with Curses."

Murmurs arose in the foul domain that was their classroom. Hermione looked around, unimpressed but still very much frightened. She could see past the front; she didn't know who the man was trying to fool, but Hermione was not as dismal when it came to enchantments. It was the kind of image that was hard to explain, but oh so easy to remember. Hardly forgetful, and all the more reason to loath the blasted room. In her curiosity, she turned and looked to Harry. It was odd to be on the other side of him after so much time spent standing next to him. Hermione hated it.

"What the Ministry won't tell you is what Wizards can do to each other," Moody said quietly. "I have one year to show you- to _teach_ you about Dark Magic."

"What good will that do us?" asked someone in the back, and they all turned to find Seamus Finnegan challenging the new Professor.

Moody didn't take kindly to his question, but answered with this," Dark Magic is nothing to play around with. They come in many strengths and forms. The Ministry wants to keep you in the dark. I've been instructed to only teach you about countercurses, but I think it'll benefit you to know about what happened at the World Cup. It's nothing compared to what can happen out there in the real world. No one is ever truly matured to deal with Dark Magic, or see the corruptive nature of it. You're not supposed to see what illegal curses look like until your sixth year. Dumbledore reckons you can cope, and I say the sooner, the better. You all can do well knowing what you're up against because no one is going to tell you. BANG! It'll happen before you have the chance to even realize what's happening You need to be watchful and vigilant."

Just then a sudden cold fell over them and the lights to the classroom dimmed until there was only a whisper of light left for them to use as guidance. Harry looked around, finding the shadows dancing and playing the most abdominal trick; they curled into misshapen forms, coming alive like a ballet of puppets. They chased the sudden light, and their most hated reoccurrence came into view.

Moody paced slowly in front of them, his mechanical eye whirling once again. "Have any of you knowledge of which curses are most heavily punished in our world? Yes?"

Tentatively, Ron raised his hand and when he was called on, he dropped his hand into his lap and took a deep breath.

"My dad told me about one… t-the Imperius Curse?"

"Aye, your dad would know about that one, then. Gave the Ministry a bit of trouble at one time, that Curse." Moody walked over to his desk, opened a door, and produced a glass jar. Inside, three large spiders scuttled over each other. He reached into the jar and plucked the first one his mechanical eye landed on before dropping it into his palm and murmuring a spell under his breath. "Imperio!" The spider then soared into the air as if attached to thinly woven silk. Once it broke the thread, it did a cartwheel across the desk before being forced into the air to dangle above a glass full of water. Just the tip of its legs touched the surface before being pulled back and placed into Moody's palm.

"Think this is funny, do you?" he asked with a growl. "Wouldn't like it if I did it to you, eh?"

All laughter ceased completely as they watched the spider bob up and down. "I can make it jump out the window," he forced the poor thing toward the window, where it splayed all its legs against the window before being levitated back to the desk," or drown itself." Again, the spider hovered over the glass a water in front of them. "A lot of witches and wizards have fallen under the control of the Imperius Curse. Years back, it gave the Ministry a bit of a problem, and you can imagine the sort of dilemma it caused, trying to figure out who were being forced to act, and who were acting under their own free will."

Moody looked up, licked his lip and sauntered away from his desk and back to the front of the classroom. "Dark Magic doesn't only involve Curses. It may also involve creatures so frightening you'd wish you never saw them. What we are about to learn today is something that has been used many times over," he began his lesson in the most foreboding voice he could muster. Everyone leaned in, wanting to hear what he would say about the matter. Regardless of the Professor, DADA has always been interesting. Whether they were dueling one another or fighting off a buggart the shape of eggshell ornament that someone's great aunt hung on her Christmas tree, defending oneself is greatly important as it was hard to master. Harry fed off Moody's vibe, and for once he was rewarded with what he truly wanted. "As time can recall, the Inferi has been used throughout history as a means of reanimated the corpse of a decease individual.

"There has been great speculation that the integrity of the body had to be tainted during life to work such wonders. The Imperius is the least of the three, but there is another that would leave you pleading for death. Anyone know what that Curse might be?"

To everyone's great surprise, Neville Longbottom tentatively raised his hand. Moody said nothing when he pointed his finger and called on him. "T-there is the Cruciatus Curse." Neville said in a small, distant voice.

Moody looked at him intently, this time with both eyes. "Name's Longbottom, isn't it?" he asked, his magical eye looking down at the roster before meeting the gaze of the other eye. Neville nodded slowly, and Moody stopped his inquiry as he turned back to the class and picked up the next spider.

"Engorgio!" The spider doubled its sized before it was placed on the table. Again, Moody pointed his wand at it and muttered," Crucio!" At once, the spider's legs contorted horribly and bent beneath its body; it rolled over and began rocking side to side. All the while, the silence of the creature was the most deafening. If it had a voice, it would be screaming.

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled at once, unable to take the sight of the spider being tortured. Everyone turned to her, finding that she wasn't looking at the spider, but Neville. His hands were clenched upon the desk, his knuckles turning white as a horrified look flashed across his face. Eyes wide and soulless, Neville looked as if he had been the one afflicted with the curse and not the spider. "Can't you see that it's bothering him!"

Hermione needn't pretend that the eyes that followed them were solely on her. She could feel their sharp gazes even at the sudden noise that came from one corner of the room. It forced everyone to lift their heads in the direction of the noise. Eyes followed them everywhere like raucous harpies looking for prey; it was with this unnerving feeling that the classroom began to shrink and suffocate everyone that was within its hold. Her body felt as if it was devoid of something precious; the whole world seemed to press down upon her in a strangling sense of demolishment. Hermione's need for survival increased tenfold and only continued to increase just as when the doors to the classroom shot open and their new Professor strolled in. She felt the spotlights dim on her without once uttering a word. All she could see was a stormy sea of black. Moody's expression was dark and humorless. Ages, it seemed. It felt like ages that time was suspended between them and her hatred for the man and subject dawned on her. Hermione was sure that they would pay witness to great things in the coming hour or so, but not if it left them void of feeling in the end.

They looked at her like something to gawk at. If she hadn't been a spectacle once before, this time made no difference and couldn't compare to last. She was at the mercy of their stares; it seemed that there was nothing that she could do about it.

Hermione looked to Neville. Just then, all of her went out to him. She knew not of the struggles he faced, but she'd be damned to watch him suffer any longer.

Moody looked to Neville and dropped his hand. The spider continued to twitch of its own accord. "Pain," was al he said. "You don't need knives, robes, and other sorts to inflict pain. It was quite popular curse among the Dark Wizards. Anyone else?"

Hermione raised her hand, the first time during the entire class and once she was called on, she looked to Harry for a moment before whispering, "Avada Kedavra,"

Several people looked to her with unease, including Ron before Moody nodded once and took out the last spider. She looked at it, finding the creature aware of its fate. It began to squirm, thrashing its tiny legs until Moody raised his wand one last time in one fluid movement, muttered the fateful curse. A flash of green ignited from the tip of the wand, and Hermione had to dig her nails into her palm to abide the sickening feeling of watching the spider's legs cease movement. From what she could tell, this death was painless. In a blind of an eye, really, and one would be finished.

" _Memento Mori_ ," Moody told them. "Death, in this instance, is quick. But, like all Dark Magic, taking a life requires something in return, thus bringing us to our last lesson- The Inferi."

"Inferi are corpses reanimated by a Dark Wizard's spell, and only a few written accounts have been found of such occurrences. I'm sure you are all familiar with Nicholus Flamel's resurrection stone, yes? It was Gellert Grindelwald who was the last Wizard to attempt to comprise an army of dead. From my understanding, Grindelwald was in the middle of trying to split his soul to accomplish his feat of starting a war. It is unknown if he accomplished what he originally set out to do."

All the while, he drew each word out like they were a spell itself. His voice held such promising admiration, like he would like nothing more than to try and see if he could reanimate someone who sinned beyond redemption during their life. What afterlife awaited someone who did? Certainly, it wasn't something they aspired to do with themselves once they were deceased? Anyone who did was never human in the first place.

"What sort of things did they have to do?" asked Seamus. The Unforgiveables had intrigued them, and downright terrified them. Now that they were on a more forbidding topic, they were all ears. Moody looked to him with his magical eye. "Couldn't have been that bad, now can it?"

"Ah," a hint of a smile sprung to his lips," that is the greatest mystery of all, Mr. Finnigan. It is not a question of what they had done, or what they had to do, but rather what hadn't they done? 'We are all infected and impure with sin'. But no sin runs deeper than those who have fallen."

"Are you saying that that we're all born with sin?"

"That is precisely what I am trying to evoke." Moody said, smiling still.

"Then how is it possible to sink any lower than we already are?" someone asked, this time the voice sounding terrified. The idea of being any way compared to the Inferius was taking a heavy toll on some of the students. "Do we all have the potential to become one of these things?"

Hermione instantly whipped her head around, her hair flying in front of Harry's face. Of course, she would react to such a ludicrous statement; even she knew that some very dark magic would have to be involved before anyone or anything was turned into an Inferi. The girl who asked was overcome with fear, like any minute someone would call upon her and turn her into one of the creatures, forced to do their bidding.

"Ms. Brown," he said calmly, looking at her as he did," I do not believe I made myself clear, so allow me to get that lovely little thought out of your head. What I said about us all being born with sin is true. But," he held up his wand and flicked to toward the projection screen at the front of the classroom," those who go beyond that and try to summon and tamper with things that ought to be left alone surely deserve such an inviting title, don't you think?"

When she did not answer he continued. "The Inferi can only be created by very dark magic. Otherwise, what is the point? As I have stated, one must have done something dreadfully dark to warrant such a position. You can wash your hand of visible dirt and grime, but it will always be there, as many of you have exhibited. Others, as they run around and infest themselves with more and more grime, are obviously more tainted then the rest. A notion such as murder in the Muggle world is one demonstration of such earnestness that would not be so easily forgiven. It is frowned upon, yet people still do it. Another is the tampering of one's soul.

"Remember, there are only a few known accounts of the Inferi, and even fewer with splitting one's soul. An individual would have to do some forbidden work to even split their soul into two and the only account recorded was of a man who split their soul into seven."

Whispers filled the classroom. Born from their mixed excitement and revulsion, the topic to which they irrevocably gave them became that of intrigue and curiosity. The idea of tampering with one's soul was completely unheard of; even Hermione couldn't think of one instance that someone was able to do anything that would hinder their travel to the next world or allow them to stay suspended between this world and the next. Unless they had things to achieve before they moved on, they stayed. Otherwise, they went on. To think that it was even remotely possible for them to halt what time and the natural of both worlds intended was something truly to ponder over.

The shutters were drawn closed and a small projection played out in front of them. Though rather superficial compared to what they just talked about.

"I wonder what it would be like." whispered Seamus as Moody asked them to write notes. His partner, Dean Thomas couldn't contain his curiosity, either. "Wonder it would feel like to live forever?"

"Why would you want to live forever?" asked Neville. Hermione could tell that he was still trying to recover from what they just saw. "I think it would be horrible to live forever." He said, an odd expression falling over his face as he masked his detest. "My great aunt is ancient; I honestly thought she'd never die."

He spoke as if he was just waiting for his great aunt to pass away by the way he spoke of her. She sounded dreadful; and, if what he said about her was true, she very much sounded ancient and could have easily done something to allow her to live so long.

"Reckon it would be nice. For a while, at least."

"I dunno," shrugged Ron. "What do you think, Hermione?"

She looked up, catching his eye as he turned around. Somehow, he had known she was there. Hesitating for a moment, Hermione chose her words carefully before proceeding with what she thought was morally correct and what she would do if she had that much time on her hands. Living forever just didn't seem plausible, even if it would be worthwhile. But, losing one's salvation and integrity to help others? Hermione was torn. Spending the time travelling the world and acquiring as much knowledge as she could was her answer, this had almost been expected. Though, she knew only Flamel meant it as such. His idea of immortality was diversely different that a Dark Wizard's idea.

"Come on," Ron rolled his eyes, bringing his wand hand up and pretending to listen to Moody's instructions. "You do that now! Be honest, what do you really think."

"What do I really think?" she repeated the question like she didn't hear it right the first time. "I think it shouldn't be done!"

"Tampering with your soul?"

"Yes," she hissed. "I can't imagine any good would come of it. One has to be incredibly tainted and selfish to want to split up their soul like that."

"No one said anything about splitting their soul apart."

"Ron," she sighed, agitated," what did you think happened when you tampered with your soul and was giving immortality. If you're going to take something as precious and grand as that, you aren't going to get it without a price."

"You mean," Harry cut in, interested now," it's possible?"

"Of course, it is, Harry. How else do you think people did it?"

Unfortunately, that was when Moody chose to come around. He looked at them with the same contentment of unconcealed curiosity and intrigue as he has done so many times during class. Harry returned it, though concealed through the strict expression chosen for the occasion. As he came around, he got back to writing, looked at Hermione, and slipped her something under the desk. The subject of the Inferi swirled inside Hermione's mind. She tried to focus her energy on jotting down notes, but was caught off guard by Moody's proximity. An unexpected image of a trapped soul came to mind, and she struggled to keep the gasp from slipping from her lips; it was an image that she knew all too well.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Y'all, this nearly killed me! I can't believe it took me so long to figure out how to start this chapter. (AGAIN!) I rewrote the beginning at least seven times before settling on what you see now. I wanted to wait just a bit longer to introduce the Unforgiveables, but couldn't because the information paired with the idea of the Inferi matched so perfectly that it honestly took on a life of its own. Chapter nine is already halfway finished thanks to some previous ideas of chapters. I think y'all will like it :) Especially, the information you're about to learn. I'm not sure just how long it will be, but fear not! If it gets too long, I'll split the chapter ^-^

 **NOTE:** I did fix a couple of mistakes that I found in this chapter. I added a couple of things to it, as well.

 **Important Notes:** In this instance, the Dark Lord is going to be a deity sort of like Draco. Voldemort existed around the same time as he did, only finally being throttled by villagers and sealed up inside of a tomb until the "Prophecy" is said that he'll rise again. Only Draco knows precisely what happened, and he's part of the reason why Hermione was killed, after all. Information will be slow to uncover, and just think we barely introduced the idea of the Tournament?

 **Inferius:** (pl. **Inferi** ) A dead body reincarnated by a Dark Wizard's Spell. Though like Zombies, they are quite different from one another. Inferi are created through the magical branch of Dark Arts called Necromancy, (art of raising the dead). The spells used to reanimate the corpse are complex. In this instance, Grindelwald was the last known person to try to raise an army of dead. He was obsessed with the Resurrection Stone and tried to use it in such a way, though the conception of the stone adversely differed from the actual powers of the stone. I will not be writing about the Stone using its nature, as written in the books.

 _-Memento Mori-_ Remember that you have to die.


End file.
